Corrosion
by neverforsalejustforrent
Summary: Canon through GOF, mostly accepts canon of OoTP. Draco's sixth year, he's infected, and he's never been known to handle surprises well. Or authority. Be warned, this is a long one, and I'm not done writing it. EVENTUALLY, H/D slash. Done from primarily Draco's POV, but some chapters from others. Chapters vary in length. Rated M, or MA for language, violence, and adult themes.
1. Unfortunate Circumstances

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, this world, or anything except my own words.

The faint light of a moon that was hidden behind clouds silhouetted the figure of three young, terrified males, kneeling before a large dark chair. A tall, dark haired boy, beside a large trembling boy, was glancing concernedly at the third boy, who knelt slightly in front of them. The third boy was covered in blood, his hair was a dark, sticky scarlet, and his shoulders were set in a mulish and determined way the other boys did not have. They were surrounded by cloaked figures, who immediately and deferentially stepped back when there was a sudden crack and a pale, gleaming, deformed man with mania in his eyes appeared.

Lord Voldemort took an enraged step towards the boys. "Goyle. Zabini," he began, his high and clear nasty voice ringing. He enunciated clearly, his eyes livid. The boys flinched as he spoke. "And of course, the young mister Malfoy."

He took another menacing step forwards, and the moon began to drift out from behind the clouds. The bright light from the full moon began to spill over the three boys.

Gregory Goyle's face was pale with terror, he was covered in soot and ash, and his large hands trembled. Blaise Zabini had a scrape across high cheek bone, and his pupils were small, terrorized pinpoints, but he did not tremble.

And Draco Malfoy, was covered in blood, the gouges on his arm, and slashes through his robes indicated that it was probably mostly his own. And as the moon hit his face, the dark lord raised his wand, and calmly intoned, "Crucio."

Blaise flinched as Draco fell to the floor, writhing, refusing to scream for as long as he could before the curse tore a choked cry of mind numbing pain from his lips. Blaise watched his friend shudder and writhe through widened eyes, and the idea that perhaps they had chosen the wrong side dawned on him.

The Dark Lord lowered his wand, but instead of falling limp and weeping, Draco's body contorted further, and his scream spluttered and died in his throat. Draco was seizing and shaking, and Gregory caught a glimpse of his friends eyes rolling into the back of his head, his mouth twisting into a fierce snarl. His body suddenly contracted, hunched and suddenly it became apparent Draco's hair was turning darker, longer, and his limbs were lengthening, his face changing.

The Dark Lord took a step back, and narrowed his eyes, searching the crowd for an explanation.

But before any of the shocked on lookers could provide a response, Draco's twisting form snapped up and threw back its head, ears laying flat against his back, and gave a blood thirsty and chilling howl.

The white and black wolf snarled and spun, its dark eyes searching wildly, lips pulled back in a vicious expression of rage.

The Dark Lord took a step back in surprise, and raised his wand cautiously to the snarling animal.

"Crucio."

The wolf yelped, twisting, jaws snapping at whatever invisible force was making its nerves feel like they were burning from the inside out. And when the dark lord lowered his wand again, after less time this time, the wolf growled, and leaped for his throat, teeth bared, prepared to slash. Unable to think properly, Gregory and Blaise watched numbly as the dark lord hastily threw up his arms, his wild magic slamming into the wolf so that it fell to the ground with a sickening crack.

The enraged wolf scrambled to its feet, hackles raised, glaring at the dark lord. He sank back on to his haunches and sprung, but this time, the Dark Lord was expecting it. He raised his hands, his magical power thrumming through the room. He close his hands into fists, and the wolf was suspended in the air, frozen, a fierce growl stuck in his throat.

The Dark Lord muttered a spell under his breath, and a flash of light burst through the wolfs center. Nothing happened. He frowned and hissed an angry spell, and the magic soaked into the wolf, but nothing happened.

"Not an animagus then," Mused the dark lord, turning curiously to his followers. "And who invited Mr. Greyback to the initiation?" His voice was amused, and flippant. He obviously did not care in the least about what the hell happened to any of the boys. He furrowed his brow slightly, turning back to the wolf. "He cannot remain here…"

A pulse of strong magic surged into the werewolf, and as the Dark Lord flipped his hand dismissively, the wolf was slammed into a window, and flung out onto the grounds, thrown to the rest of his kind.


	2. Confusion

Disclaimer: I own nothing, I have nothing, nope.

Chapter warnings: This chapter has some rough language. Er, maybe a lot.

Draco woke up slowly, a dull ache setting in as he was pulled from a dreamless sleep. His limbs ached, and he couldn't move even a little. His head felt heavy, throbbing, a million miles away. He could hear voices floating, but couldn't understand them. He had never been so tired in his entire life.

"They do with him, he isn't p-"

"Stop, we don't know there's no use guessing."

"He's been out for days…"

Someone stroked his head and it burned and hurt, and when the hand went to his shoulder, maybe in an attempt to comfort him, the pain swallowed him up.

He dreamed vividly sometimes, and sometimes it seemed a foggy distant world he was dreaming up. Or maybe he was just over hearing things, or the things were mixed.

He dreamed of high laughter, terse words that he couldn't understand, unbearable pain, hushed tones, and snapping, jagged pain puncturing him. And he dreamed about aching, and about crazed eyes, and the hungry baying of the dark lords wolves.

When he finally awoke again it hurt. The world hurt. Everything hurt. He tried to move, maybe just open his eyes, but it hurt, and he yelped. And yelping hurt so badly it winded him.

"Shhh, Draco, just have a sip of water, stay quiet ok?" Blaise's voice wasn't the arrogant icy tones he was used to, he sounded broken, and concerned. He felt himself being propped, pulled up, and felt a cool mug being pressed to his lips. It all hurt, all the moving, some places, his skin felt stretched too thin, and all his joints felt thousands of year old, rusted and screaming at the motions. He opened his mouth, tasting a sour morning breath he hadn't ever tasted before. He slowly sipped at the icy water, even water stung going down.

"How long," he managed to croak, his gut stabbing with pain, and lips cracking dryly. He finally opened his eyes slightly, but found the room he was in was dark. He looked to Blaise's face, and found his long time friend avoiding his gaze.

"Well," Blaise began hesitantly, "Almost a month…"

Just as Draco was preparing to try to ask what the hell had happened what the fuck Blaise goddamit, he heard footsteps.

"Sorry Draco, just, just, calm down ok? Don't fight," mumbled Blaise hastily, easing Draco back down onto the thin mattress and backing out of the room, a panic in his eyes that scared Draco. Blaise was self confident, even a self-centered ass sometimes, but this broken Blaise was not a good sign.

He waited in dread, hearing distant footsteps, wishing vainly that he knew what he was afraid of. He was so sore, so tired, the pain was aching, dull, and hot and inescapable, like a stifling, humid summer. The door burst open, and four figure burst in. Draco's arm because to burn, and then as three of the figures burst forwards, and stabbing ripping pain tore through his legs and abdomen, and he sank back into blissful mind numbing blackness.


	3. Inner Panic

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter Warnings: This one has some language that ends up being pretty bad.

He dreamed of mixing colors, needles, sharp pain, and blank eyes staring at him. All he could do in any of his dreams was fight, scream, and in the end fall submissively into the fetal position and hold himself.

Sometimes he thought he could feel cold stones, smooth scales, hot moist gusts of air, or even soft fur beneath him, but he couldn't ever see in those parts of his dreams, all he could see was darkness, and red mist.

Gentle shaking awoke him again, his body was less sore this time, but the stabbing pains ached, and his body felt wretched. He almost swore he could feel the blood in his veins, it felt like thick silt, sludging through delicate veins and arteries aggressively.

He cracked open an eye, and saw Blaise again. He opened his mouth to talk, but no sound came out, just a foreign hoarse croak. Blaise shoved water at him again, and Draco realized that this time, he had woken sitting up, his back against a cold hard stone wall. He slowly opened his mouth, and allowed his friend to pour the lukewarm, metallic water into his mouth. Swallowing hurt, and his stomach felt foreign and angry as soon as the water hit it. It was colder in this room, than in the place he had been before.

"How long?" He managed, before he deteriorated into coughs that send stabs of excruciating pain through his chest.

"Since we took the mark? Uh probably, six weeks? Since the last time you were fully awake? A few weeks?" He sounded like he was unsuccessfully trying to sound flippant and unconcerned.

Draco narrowed his eyes, but his friend blithely ignored his gaze and made himself busy smoothing his shirts wrinkles busily.

Draco tried to reach out to grab Blaise's arm, and paused. His arm was bandaged with filthy strips of cloth, and his elbows, inner elbows stung, and were more heavily bandaged. He stopped, and started to yank at his bandages. Blaise reached out and looked like he might try to stop him, but for once a venomous glare from Draco actually stopped him.

He tore at the cheesecloth angrily, not caring how badly the rough cloth dragging over his skin felt. His inner elbows were badly bruised, and his arms were covered in deep punctures everywhere except where his dark mark lay, stark and ugly.

He raised his eyes slowly to his friend in questioning. What the hell…

The look on his friends eyes just read pity and horror, and Draco bit his lip lightly, and gasped with pain. His hand flew to his lips, and came away with a dark red sticky liquid. Blood looked darker than he remembered and made him feel sicker than he remembered. He slowly touched his teeth with his fingers. Sharp, feral, more sensitive than he remembered.

"What?" He managed to rasp out, hoping that his friend would be able to work out what he meant.

"Oh, god, Malfoy," He began, which was a bad sign, since Blaise nearly always referred to Draco by his first name, "It's just that you got bitten, and your dad, he told the Dark- him, you know, well your dad told him to do whatever he wanted with the likes of you, to make you useful, and well they had tried this on muggles with mixed results, and never on a wizard, much less a proper, strong pure blood, and well, it went well, and then they just they wouldn't stop, and when it was you know, full, a full moon, or whatever, well you went wild, and almost attacked Him, and they were angry, and wanted to control you, and well they just they wanted a hybrid and you took it so much better your magic really took it you know and I just, they, you, you, you haven't even been human in weeks, and when you switched back, they finally backed off, but the dark lord said he wanted to see if you could be a weapon, and I just…"

Blaise's voice came fast, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a fast, and strained tone of voice as if he was trying to choke out the story as fast as possible, to get it over with. He stopped, trailing off, looking helpless and aggressively fidgeted with the hem of his dirty shirt.

"Bitten?" Draco said slowly. "Hybrid? Wh- Wait. What do you mean I haven't been human in _weeks_?"

He began to feel a numb shock wash over him. Punctures. Bites. He was covered in bites. He looked at Blaise in horror and grabbed his forearm, tight with both hands.

"You're… You're a lot of things Draco… He said he needs a pureblood weapon he can trust and control… And since you were, you know, bitten, by Greyback, you, you turned into a wolf and leaped at him, and he thought that, I don't know, that fearlessness, would come through…. And then… well… they tried biting you more, a lot, on the next night, and tried to see if you were stronger, and then, well, he got… vampire blood, and dragons blood, and phoenix- well any highly magical blood he could get a hold of. Then the next month when you transformed, he did the last one, he did this blood ritual thing, I don't really know, I wasn't there, and he said you were semi conscious, and he wanted to work on controlling you. He challenged you I think, or bullied you I don't know but you stayed an animal, and then he had you do magic, just kept torturing until you did things, I don't know, I think he could understand you, and he just, you, I don't know he got you to transform back and forth a lot and do magic and, I don't know all I know is you came back and you wouldn't wake up and you stayed a big bloody fucking terrifying wolf for ages, even during the day, and I just…"

Blaise kept babbling uncertainly, but Draco felt himself tune his friend out… He was… What?

"Blaise, what am I? Exactly?" His voice was curt, or it tried to be but he was hoarse, from screaming he assumed.

"I… I don't know? I think some sort of werewolf, but he pumped all this strained magical blood into you, to try to get you to control your transformations, and Yaxley thinks that maybe it modified the werewolf gene, and you might be able to maintain your mind, but not on the full moon I think, since they let you run with the… you know, them…"

His friend was gesturing helplessly around the room wildly as if to paint Draco a picture.

A what.

A filthy, half breed, non human…

He was worse than a fucking house elf, lower than anything, why would father let his good, clean blood be used for this, why had this even, his family needed him, and now he was a lowly cruel murderous beast with filthy, angry tendencies, and a demonic life goal…

His self-hatred and disgust must have showed on his face, because the other boy fell silent and swallowed heavily. Suddenly, in the distance, Draco heard footsteps. He remembered last time, when Blaise had had to run, he probably was forbidden from being here.

"Footsteps," He hissed shoving Blaise away, ignoring his screaming, stiff muscles. Blaise looked momentarily surprised, then blinked and his eyes darted to the door. He gave Draco one last helpless look, and slunk out the door into the dingy, damp passage way.

Draco took a deep breath, and sat up, not allowing himself to sag helplessly against the wall. He took a sip of the water, and steeled himself for who was going to enter.

The door swung open, and in swept three wizards. One, Fenrir Greyback, hardly qualified as a wizard, his filthy, greasy hair and smile oozing into the room.

Draco bowed feebly, as well as he could, chained to the wall, careful to not make eye contact with Greyback, Snape, or the Dark Lord. His back hurt, screaming as he bowed feebly. Of course, no one bothered acknowledging him, but if he hadn't bowed someone would have probably killed him or something.

"So, now what is left for him to be effective?" The Dark Lords high cold voice will never not chill Draco to his weary bones.

"He now, must learn control. If he can control, and remain sane through all this, then he will be able to use his magic in any form. We've strengthened, and changed the Lycanthropy gene enough to allow for that as well as if he learns to maintain himself, he should be able to work his magic, and should be able to control all of his transformations save those on the nights he is exposed to the moon."

Snape spoke coldly, distractedly, ignoring Draco's pleading, confused eyes. Draco refused to take his eyes from his potions professor. His mind was slurred, confused, and he couldn't understand anything but he knew he didn't want to look at either other man. All he could remember from Snape's speech was the word Control. Control. He almost laughed, a wild giggle, he had never lacked this much control in his entire life. He was chained up, he didn't feel human, he didn't know where he had been for the past month and a half or what had happened to him, and he didn't even know what anyone was talking about.

He giggled finally, a wild grief stricken choked laugh, and it hurt his sore and tender bones. All the men stopped to give him looks. Snape's, severe, Greyback's, enraged at the disrespect, The Dark Lord's, slightly annoyed, as if a pet cat had peed on the floor.

Their voices felt distant when they started to talk again.

A word had just come into focus. A werewolf.

He remembered, now, he's a werewolf. A. A fucking animal.

He began to panic, he would be disowned, he had probably gotten his family disowned, his father hated half breeds, he was so royally fucked, his heart, was so fucking loud, and his face felt hot, and filled with pinpricks, and his palms were sweating, and he couldn't handle anything, everything, this was his world, shattering, crashing, crumbling around him, everything was going dark, oh god was he having a panic attack, this was going to be fucking embarrassing, there was darkness everywhere, oh good god…

"DRACO."

Draco's eyes ripped open at the sharp pain on his forehead.

Professor Snape removed his wand from Draco's face, the tip still red hot. So red so fucking hot and bright.

Everything huurt, his face was burning, it hurt so badly.

Everything was too loud, it smelled it was a stench, it couldn't, and he couldn't even breathe around the horrible scent, the scent of everything, everything was so bright, he was so hot, he was so angry, he just fucking hated everyone, he snarled, lifting his lips into what he hoped was a horrible snarl, like he used to make when he was little.

A terrible snarl left his throat, low in his chest, and he felt his hackles rise, as he sank back onto his haunches, ready to snap. He sprung, and midair, his hind legs were caught, and he was snapped back onto the floor, slamming down onto the cold cement.

He opened his mouth to howl angrily, and paused.

Howl?

Oh shit, right.

Must be a full moon.

He snarled, glaring around the room wildly, when his eyes fell on the very human form of Greyback.

Why the hell did that foul smelling bastard get to fucking stay a human, while Draco was reduced to an over stimulated angry fucking goddamit.

Why wasn't he….

Why did the geezer look so fucking pissed what the hell was his problem.

He tried to lunge again, and the restraints caught him. He turned on the chains that bound him.

WHAT THE FUCKING HELL WHY CAN'T I DO WHATEVER THE HELL I FUCKING WANT TO, GET THIS FUCKING CHAIN OFF OF ME, he roared, snarling and snapping his jaws hard at the metal.

Nothing, but a toothache.

A fucking tooth ache that pissed him off. It hurt, it stung, the metal tasted like rust and filt and pain and blood, and the shadows were overwhelming, and he was out in the open, three sets of beady eyes watching his every move idly why wasn't anyone reacting why wasn't anyone helping fuck.

He was so angry he just needed this OFF, he slammed against the chain again, throwing all his rage into getting loose. To his surprise, the chain exploded off of him, and he found himself hurtling forwards towards Greyback, teeth bared.

Goddamit he hated the man so much, his veins were literally on fire, the urge to tear and rip so good blood all he wanted was to fucking taste blood grind his teeth into and kill-

"Enough."

The Dark Lord raised his wand, and a snap of electricity snapped against Draco's sensitive nose. Ow fuck was the sting so necessary, he didn't even remember what the hell he was jumping for he was just so fucking hungry the hungrier aching and twisting in the puts of his stomach, and again the nose stung it hurt is was bright it made him feel mad and charged and why was everyone HURTING him…

He yelped and turned.

"You will not attack unless commanded. Or your family will suffer the consequences, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco paused, fighting the sudden instinct to try and bite or kill someone. Not my family, not my family, not my family, he chanted to himself, standing still, bristling.

"Well done, Severus. I suppose you may consider your debt near paid… But to fulfill it completely, you need to keep this weapon a secret, until I am ready."

Everyone's focus was pulled from Draco, no one was paying attention.

He couldn't calm down, he just, he was finally able to stare at Greyback, unflinchingly. Conceited bastard, who the hell was he to turn his back on Draco, he would kill the stuck up little shit what the hell he couldn't believe he was being ignored by a fucking ill scented little sniveling half a man.

His teeth bared instinctively and he couldn't help it.

He felt.

He felt alive, and less helpless than ever.

There was no wand in sight.

He'd just done wandless magic. Fucking wandless magic.

And he was stronger than ever.

He did not flinch, when the Dark Lord turned to him. He hated those red eyes they made him feel sick and cowed and hurt and he remembered but couldn't and the man smelled wild off kilter mad insane…

"Draco. You have until the end of august to learn to be an animagus. Severus tells me that it will increase your control over these transformations. It is now, July 5th, and you would do well to learn to control yourself before the beginning of your 6th year."

With that, everyone turned in unison and swept out.

Why the fucking hell would need to be an animagus, he was a fucking wolf right now wasn't he wasn't this fucking good enough why was he never fucking good enough jesus fucking Christ he was just another pet wasn't he the word pet made his lips pull back into a cruel angry smile don't fucking use that word fuck pet.

Draco blinked.

No one had tied him up.

He stretched, he felt less in pain in this form, and he felt, athletic, and angry.

And alive.

He slunk out of the room, staying low to the ground.

Prowling along, he smelled something familiar, warm. For the firs time something smelled not terrifying not upsetting not aggressive and didn't make himw ant to bite and tear. He wanted something maybe to protect maybe to feed whatever was this way his ears pricked forwards, pace quickening.

He slunk along after it, sensing, as it got closer and stronger. He bounded up a set of stone stairs, and turned a sharp left. He heard a familiar rumble, and sped up his paces. He bounded into a small room with no door, skidding on the cool stone floor.

Zabini.

It came out as a low huff of breath. Oh right. Fucking cant fucking speak English, mother fucking wolf vocal chords. Blaise looked tentative, and a bit afraid. He was edging behind one Professor, or ex professor Lupin.

Draco snarled. His friend. Touching some fucking wolf. Low born, dangerous, ex professor with no fucking sense of style, maybe he would look more fucking stylish as a corpse.

He narrowed his eyes, channeling his rage in he same chain shattering fashion he had tried before. Blaise's bedding wobbled feebly at professor Lupin in a vaguely menacing fashion.

Fuck. So much for master of wandless magic and the universe.

Well. Screw magic.

Draco prepared to pounce, instinctively sinking back on his haunches, feeling his muscles bunch up with rage, and eyes narrow, when Professor Lupin held up his hands in surrender.

When the man stepped out from between Draco and his friend, averting his gaze and slumping his shoulders in submission, Draco grudgingly stopped. He wanted to snap still, and kill something but this piece of shit coward ass hole was just bowed out or whatever submissive little bastard, so Draco suppose he could live, he felt placated, but only slightly, fucking idiot.

"Draco. Focus on a very human feeling. Focus on how it feels to hold a wand, or fly a broom, or even something as simple as the ability to speak."

Human. Think human thoughts. His hands. Feeling things with touch, the feeling of a cool sheet of paper, the taste of firewhiskey, running his hands through long thick hair, he felt prickly and funny everywhere, it wasn't working whatever, fuck this shit, he missed a cool shower as much as the next idiot, but fucking Lupins stupid meditation bull shit was not working-

And then the burning pain. He felt as if he was shedding his skin, every nerve ending was on fire. His head was screaming, his bones shattering, his muscles being ripped off of his bones, his face being smashed, and his spine was on fire. He screamed, and his body contorted, eyes rolling to the back of his head, everything was on fire. He couldn't even open his eyes, but realized that not only was he naked, exhausted, and in pain, but he felt his traitorous body drift off into sleep on the soft ground.

Blaise and Lupin's low voices, a constant hum, lulled him into blissful unconsciousness.

Authors note: The writing style of Were!Draco is very different than Human!Draco, and I did my best to make it clear, but the blurring of the two appeals to me as well. But that is why Were!Draco is much more crass, and rude, and feels in a less linear fashion.


	4. Slipping

Disclaimer: I own not a thing.

Chapter warnings: Well this chapter was for more exploration of the social interactions, and how sulky Draco can be when he has an audience. All in all, this is more light hearted than the last few, but it was fun to write none the less. There is some cursing though, I think.

"I am not ready for this, not even a little bit," muttered Draco darkly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, sulking. He was tired, and his very veins ached, and being surrounded by common born muggles was doing nothing for his mood. He glared darkly at Pansy and Blaise, even though he allowed her to link her elbow around his arm. They had insisted that nothing was different, and that he needed to stop hiding in his room. It was only two weeks until Hogwarts, and none of them had picked out any books, clothes or anything. It was tradition that the three of them went together, but Draco hadn't been released back into the real world by the Dark Lord until a few days ago. And if he hadn't been specifically ordered too, he wouldn't be going to Hogwarts at all. Its not like he could ever be a successful real wizard ever, so what the hell was the point of an education.

"Stop wallowing, Draco, we can buy outrageous muggle clothes and make our mums squeal," Pansy said in a patient manner, her peace offering almost making him smile. Almost.

He allowed himself to be dragged along, sulking, and refusing to participate in Blaise and Pansy's inane chatter. He was sore, and annoyed, and his head hurt, as it usually did these days, and he was exhausted. But Pansy was right, he needed new clothes, his current ones hung off his body in unattractive fashions that made him look like the homeless cousin of Draco Malfoy.

All he could think about as he watched his friends pick out things they needed was how much he wanted to not be here. Not have to go to school. Not still be alive. There was a slight chance that he was being over dramatic, but it was unfair, and he was used to not being swamped in depression like some common teenage bint.

He wasn't even aware of what Pansy had picked out for him at this bookshop, just threw money at the sales witch and stalked after Pansy. How the hell did she even know what classes he was taking, he eyed her suspiciously, surmising that she probably paid a house elf to nick his schedule. Crafty witch.

Blaise joined him in his dreary, sulking vigil once they were in Twilifit and Tattings. Pansy was throwing robes around, joyful sales witches helping her find clothes for herself, maybe the boys, maybe a whole army, it would be hard to tell, with the sheer amount of clothes being tossed about.

"So how's the past couple of weeks been?" Blaise asked lightly.

Draco made no eye contact, and just shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh you know. Summer time is tedious for me, since I don't tan."

Blaise didn't push him, but his lips pursed slightly, indicating that the tall, dark haired boy was not ready to accept being pushed off forever.

The rest of the day passed in a similar vein, Pansy dragging them to some stores, Blaise dragging them into some others, as they made their way down Diagon Alley, to the end. Here, there was a new shop for muggle clothing, a shop that both Draco and Pansy's mothers despised.

Once inside, Draco perked up a bit, and gleefully picked out some muggle clothes, relishing how ruffled his mother would be. He even picked out some blue jeans, which his mother would surely faint at, they were so deliciously common. And he found a shirt with the words Sex Pistols emblazoned on it. He wasn't entirely sure what a sex pistol was, but the shirt said Sex across it, and as any 16 year old boy might, he thought was amusingly vulgar. Blaise found an odd pink feathery thing, and then the two boys spent the rest of the time, trying to sneak the most absurd articles of clothing they could find into Pansy's stack of garmets. Draco almost felt human again when he found himself sitting between his friends, lounging in the sun, eating ice cream from that odd little mans ice cream shop. Between bites of delicious coffee ice-cream, he reluctantly decided that perhaps he wouldn't have an awful time at Hogwarts. Maybe.

Then, the afternoon was ruined. Granger and one of the thousands of Weasley's swept past, calling in hysterics for their High Lord Potter. They turned to Draco's friends, and screeched about the loss of their one and only prince of light, savior of the world, saintly, and loving Potter. Draco closed his eyes, remembering Lupin's words. Calm. Calm. He breathed in slowly, opened his eyes and stared at a blank wall across the alley. Empty mind.

These days when he got upset, it did not go well. He wasn't the same as he used to be, and his magic had warped. It was stronger than he was used too but it was also not something he could control yet. The Dark Lord had had Snape imbue him with strained blood of magical creatures, that had been modified. He had run similar tests with muggles unsuccessfully, but since Draco's _incident_ Draco had been an acceptable candidate for the next step. He was a pureblood, had good strong magic, but was no longer considered top tier because of Greyback's lovely germs, and so could be tainted. The non-human magic was hard to wield, and he would sometimes either transform into his werewolf form if his emotions ran too high. Sometimes, other things would happen, like random things catching fire, or sometimes things would change color. And sometimes, lately, his forced animagus form would happen uncontrollably. The dark lord had not trusted the control Draco might have as a werewolf, and had demanded that under the scrutiny of several very powerful Death Eaters, Draco take a stab at learning how to be an animagus. It was tricky magic, and Draco couldn't really control his magic that well anymore to begin with.

Long story short, he had to try to ignore things such as aggressive Weasley's and mudbloods flailing in his presence. No fighting. Pain caused him to react the worst, which saved him from the crutiatus curse unless he really deserved it, and if a weasel was to punch him right now, it would not end well for anyone involved.

He was jarred out of his meditation by someone grabbing his arm. His eyes snapped to the girl Weasel's face, narrowing dangerously. He clenched his jaw, trying to control himself, his magic thrumming powerfully. Blaise was on his feet in a flash, but had stilled, not wanting to alarm Draco.

"I don't know where your precious lover is. Unhand me," he managed, through gritted teeth, not making eye contact with her. Ginger or whatever, huffed something, moving into his line of sight again haughtily. There was a rushing sound in his ears, but he clung to his control.

"Unhand me, blood traitor," He hissed, wrenching his arm from her grasp and standing, to try and at least intimidate her out of his sight. Before he could fathom what was happening, she raised her hand and slapper him as hard as she could. He flinched, and felt, with dread, his skin start to feel fiery. He turned to Blaise, his eyes wild, shaking his head. "Get me out of here," he muttered, letting Blaise put his arm under Draco's armpit, dragging him down the street, into Knockturn alley, while Draco staved off his spiraling magic. Pansy was hopefully handling the situation, and as soon as Blaise dragged Draco into the floo, Draco blacked out, and the pain swallowed him whole.


	5. Elephant Graveyard

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.

Chapter Warnings and Notes: This one has cursing, a splash of violence, and implied homosexuality, but it's pretty subtle. So, this chapter wrote itself quickly, and I don't have a beta, so while I did read through a few times to edit, let me know if I missed anything! Another note, at the end.

"Pansy started a rumor that we're shagging, to minimize the suspicion of me dragging you around Knockturn alley."

That was the lovely announcement that roused Draco the next morning. He groaned, and checked a decorative pillow in the direction of Blaise's voice as hard as he could. He had spent the previous evening until almost midnight as an agitated, blood thirsty animal, chasing his fathers pack of hell hounds around the property.

"Get out, I need coffee," he moaned into his pillow, lifting the corner of the pillow covering his face to glare accusingly at Blaise and his absurd lack of coffee.

Blaise laughed, and tossed the pillow onto Draco's bed. He perched on the edge of the bed, down by his friends feet, and leaned against one of the canopy beds posts. Draco waved his hand in a demanding fashion, and one of his mothers carefully trained house elves who was undoubtedly creepily watching him sleep from under a cupboard or something, popped into view holding coffee. Draco dragged himself into a seated position, and tipped the coffee down his throat. He was so fucking tired, he wasn't used to using this much magic all the time, there was so much to keep in check, to control. He sighed and threw the mug down towards the floor, trusting the house elves to catch it or clean it up or something.

He flopped back down and kicked Blaise through his comforter. "How's the, you know, coming?" Draco asked lazily, trying to settle back to sleep.

"Draco. You can't go back to sleep, we have the Hogwarts Express at 1 pm. And I don't think you've packed."

Draco ignored his friend's mother hen-ing, and closed his eyes decidedly. All he wanted was to sleep, but sleep was hard to come by these days.

"Draco. Come on. Up up up."

Draco furrowed his brow, but kept his eyes stubbornly shut, until Blaise dragged the comforter off of him. Draco sighed, and let a high pitched whine escape his lips, as he screwed up his eyes to fight off the sun. He glared at his tall friend, who was going through all of Draco's belongings in a leisurely fashion. Draco threw another pillow at him, and narrowed his eyes when he was ignored again.

He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, willing himself to become soft, bendable, and cleared his mind, then clearly and willingly thought the transfiguration charm. Transforming into his animagus form was more peaceful than his werewolf form. When he was a werewolf, he was magical still, powerful, vital, and crazed, but when he was his animagus, he was just Draco. He wasn't very magical at all, and control wasn't an issue.

Draco narrowed his eyes, growled, and pounced, spotted paws outstretched. Blaise whirled around, and was knocked over by Draco slamming into him, and as he fell, he also closed his eyes, his grin turning slowly as his face elongated, and he turned into a thin, drawn maned wolf, his reddish fur catching in Draco's powerful, snapping jaws.

They rolled on the ground growling, snapping and lunging at one another playfully, and neither noticed when the door swung open.

"Boys, none of that."

Both of them froze, and demurely sat up, next to one another, panting almost in unison. Draco was bigger, bulkier, but Blaise was a thinner, more shaggy, elegant creature. Dracos animagus was a striped hyena, and at first he had been less than pleased at yet another cosmic joke on the part of the universe. Hyenas were considered to be grave robbing, demonic, scavangers, with filthy habits and nasty attitudes. But he felt at peace, calm, like a king when he was in his Hyena form. His jaws were strong enough to snap a chairs leg, and his sensitive ears and nose were more sensitive than in his wolf form. But as a hyena, he felt more self confident and not at all challenged like he did as a wolf, but he supposed that was because he didn't actually know any other hyenas, but he was surrounded by other werewolves.

Bellatrix Lestrange was in the doorway, her arms crossed, overly large eyes unblinkingly on the two sitting animals. "The dark lord requires the two of you. Now."

She turned, and swept out, and Draco loped after her, not bothering to shift back into a human. His human form was of no use to the dark lord, and he knew it. As a human he was only a decent wizard, not overwhelmingly strong, young, and not particularly sneaky. As a hyena he had incredible stamina, perfect control over his body, and his large, ugly head was strong, and had a vice like grip. As a werewolf, he had wildly uncontrolled magic, and since they had spliced the werewolf virus with that of various magical creatures, he was pretty powerful, but he couldn't really control himself, and half the time he couldn't even make decisions, he could only feel heart beats that he wanted to rip at.

Blaise followed, also still a maned wolf. Draco was a Black, and genetically, Blacks had a gift to transfigurations, and morphisms, he even had a few cousins who were metamophaguses, and it was easy for those of strong Black heritage to master Animagi forms, and any transformation magics. Blaise was just a smart kid, who was unwilling to let Draco get the best of him in anything. He had spent the summer along with Draco being drilled and taught by an odd selection of Death Eaters, and finally both had been able to work out the complex meditation and magical awareness that had to be active to transform into an animal.

They arrived in a room where The Dark Lord was perched on a large, ornate throne, and several hooded figures knelt around him. Fenrir Greyback was standing to the left of The Dark Lords throne, and as soon as the two boys entered, he made direct eye contact with Draco. Draco flattened his ear against his skull and looked down, but internally he was annoyed as hell. Draco's first real full moon allowed out with the pack, Greyback had made sure Draco knew his place at least halfway down the large pack's pecking order.

Draco couldn't focus on the high pitched voice of The Dark Lord, going on and on and on about, Hogwarts, about Dumbledore, about keeping up their training, about how Draco needed to master his powers by winter term break, and of course on and on about how Draco needed to accomplish his task in regards to capturing the two when he got the message, through Blaise.

Blaise had only been involved because of Draco's new accelerated healing, because of the unicorn and phoenix bloods that had been genetically grafted through complex arithmancy and potions making it almost impossible for things to mark him. It also made his blood a funny color, but more importantly to the Dark Lord, his body had rejected the Dark Mark, since superficial wounds didn't affect him, and wand branding was a superficial wound even at its harshest.

He had gotten severely wounded crucioed, and re branded twice for that one, but then Snape had shown the research that the Mark wouldn't take now, the Pheonix's DNA was too intricately spliced with his own, and the unicorns blood meant that he couldn't be drained of blood to be redone genetically without the person who took the blood possibly being damaged or cursed.

"Let us see the boys control. Fenrir?"

The dark lords voice was naturally cold and amused, but it made Draco's sensitive ears grate. What was worse was when Draco saw the old, twisted werewolf step forwards, malicious grin on his face.

"Turn. Now." The or else rang louder than anything else in Draco's mind. He whined low, and closed his eyes, letting the blooming fear channel into his veins and activate his very primal werewolf instincts, that when threatened, seemed to manifest regardless of the location or even presence of the moon. Instead of fighting it, which just made the transformation hurt more, he tried to breathe and accept if, as his face rearranged itself, and his innards, and magical core twisted and roiled.

Red. Everything was all red. And he fucking hated it, dammit, he was so mad. He grudgingly kept his ears back and his head sunk low, glaring at his pack masters feet. He tried to keep breathing calmly, control, calm, come on, but everything smelled. It smelled bright it smelled too much, he could smell fear, roiling off most people, he could smell dried blood and urine, he could smell sweat, he could smell a house elf moving somewhere in another room, he could smell something familiar, intermingled in fear, mother, mother must be one of these one of these people he could smell her, and most of all, he could smell the sharp, static scent that magic had in this form.

He lashed his tail, bristling, calm calm, can't scare mother, gotta please mother. In, out, in out, stay Draco, stay this, come on. He heard the yelps and moans that were what human speech sounded like if he didn't focus very hard. He whined, head lower, trying to keep calm. Ok. Focus. What did these sounds mean. Come on Draco.

"Malfoy, light this on fire. With magic."

He focused on the piece of crumpled parchment that Greyback threw on the ground in front of him. Greyback wanted to show off, and he knew destructive magic was by far the easiest for him in this form. He growled at it, channeling all the rage he felt, all the protectiveness he felt, all the overwhelming shame deep into his gut. He breathed in, closing his eyes. He concentrated, centered his magic, opened his eyes and focused it on the paper. He breathed out hard, narrowing his eyes at the crumpled paper and snarled. The paper burst into flame, and so did the robe of one of the hooded figures, who squawked and stamped it out.

He sat, and watched the Dark Lord, steadily, stoic. The dark lord made some more human sounds, but Draco was tired, magic was hard for him, and he was fucking starving, ravenous, couldn't fucking think or function. All he fucking knew was that he wanted to taste something fucking raw and crude right now. Right. Now.

People kept talking, and he hated them, he hated that his pack master always kept him on such a tight, fucking leash, some of the other wolves could manage their form when the moon wasn't out, but no one else was a fucking science project so they got to do whatever the hell they wanted while he was just the Dark Fucking Lord's bitch, when really that man couldn't fight tooth and nail, spilling blood, couldn't really fight like a wolf would he was a weak, thin skinned, foul smelling little runt. He choked back a snarl, musn't hurt mother, can't let them, breathe. He shifted, and leaned his shoulder into Blaise's.

Kill. Kill. Come on. Fuck. Come on. Give the command. Come on. You know you want to. Come on, come on, come on. The blood lust was nearly overwhelming him. He just needed to _rip-_

Blaise rose, and gave Draco a pointed look, padding out of the room. Draco followed, sheepishly realizing that he hadn't been paying any fucking attention. Because. He was going to kill and eat the next living thing he didn't know well enough to not want to eat. He growled, nipping at Blaise's flank, shoving past the smaller wolf, and bolting down the hall way. Air. Fresh air, ripping past him, he soared out the door, the ground only skimming his paws, he was so fucking fast and it felt so good, his body shot along the edge of the property. He vaguely heard his friend scampering after him, and he came to a skidding halt in order to turn around, and pounce, knocking his friend over. The cold, evening air made him feel alive, the smell of grass, of life, of delicious, it was so good, he was so fucking happy, and rolled over his friend, playfully snapping his jaws, letting himself be flung backwards by the other wolfs hind legs to his belly. He threw back his head and howled, the release making him feel good, howling like this made him feel slightly less like killing. When he looked back over at Blaise, the other wolf leapt to his feet and bolted, Draco taking off after him, tongue hanging out of his mouth happily. Later, another day, in another form, he would bother himself with the worries that should be plaguing him, but allowing himself to get lost in the adrenaline rush that came from running as hard and fast as he could, wind slamming through his lungs. When he wasn't a man, it wasn't hard to forget the worries of men, the more complex plane of thought, the bothers of right, wrong, and responsibility.

Authors Note: So, I'm trying to capture the shifting of Draco's world from screwing around with his friends to the adult world, and his unwillingness to let it go. The coping method of ignoring Voldemort and going running with Blaise is childish, but I can't imagine he's just going to segue calmly.

An additional note: Hyena's are one of the most adaptable animals, being both hunters and scavengers. They have complex social structures, with large packs, and are versatile and powerful hunters. The jaw of a hyena can snap the femur of an adult human male in one bite. They're also able to digest anything from skin, to bone, to plants, to insects, to bone, anything. I thought a loyal, versatile, powerful animal that has a negative social stigma, and is socially complex was a good match/assessment of Draco to be his animagus. I also concluded that since being an unregistered animagus came easily to Sirius, and with Tonks being a metamorphagus, that transfiguration probably came easily to the Black family, and since his body was already accustomed to changing, it wouldn't be that difficult to combine his predispositions and make becoming and unregistered animagus achievable.


	6. Hogwarts Bound

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter warning: I don't think there are many notes for this one. This is another building and social structure setting chapter. If you see any errors don't hesitate to inform me.

"Draco, stop that tapping, before I kill you," Hissed Pansy through gritted teeth. They were sitting in the Prefects cabin, and Draco was haughtily ignoring everyone and drumming his fingers on Pansy's leg, impatiently. She smacked his hand, eyes narrowed, and turned back to the meeting. Someone was droning on and on, about something, and Draco had more important things to worry about. For his plan to work, he would need to learn how to apparate, and since he couldn't apparate in Hogwarts, he would have to leave the grounds somehow without rousing suspicion. And he would also need to keep practicing his transfiguration magic, to keep him up to snuff. And of course, learn wandless magic. Oh right, and not let anyone find out he was a fucking werewolf. Oh, and probably start preparing for his NEWTS also personally, he doubted that he would be back at Hogwarts for his seventh year, or that he would ever be accepted by wizarding society once this whole scandal got out. Oh right, and he had to try to keep as many of his Slytherins in a neutral position, out of danger, and out of the war.

All in all, he had about one million things to worry about, and his Prefect duties were not high on the list. At all. He gave Chang a baleful stare as she yammered on and on and on, and tried to stifle the urge to see if he could spit on Weasle's face from here. If he got a freckle, 1000 points to Slytherin. He could almost hear his mother's voice in his head, admonishing him for spitting, or even considering doing something so beneath him.

Words, words, words. Draco hated listening to people who were full of themselves, and hate him for no reason. And he hated irrelevant people and their opinions, but he knew that the seventh year prefect, Terrance Higgs, would have his skin if he mouthed off to Chang one more time.

He lounged on his chair, stretching slightly, his back cracking slightly, and he looked at Hannah Abbot through lowered eyelashes, smiling a lazy flirtatious smile, when she scowled and colored slightly.

Pansy pinched him, hard, narrowing her eyes. Draco frowned, and sulked, nursing his pinched skin, so much so that he didn't notice when Chang dismissed them, and it wasn't until Pansy tugged on his sleeve that he looked up, and got to his feet.

Two hours later found them in a compartment with some other Slytherins, laughing and taunting Blaise for his latest crush, some Ravenclaw called Davis. The boy took it all relatively good naturedly, throwing sweets at everyone in a faux-enraged fashion. Draco idly laughed along with everyone else. He was being quieter than normal, just basking the first moment of his summer that hadn't been about some greater meaning, or greater good. He flopped backwards, sprawling across Pansy's lap.

He couldn't think straight anymore, but he felt like something was shifting. This was real. This was where it was real, the summer felt surreal. Everyone was hiding something at home, all the agendas, and he couldn't help but feel that his parents war was going to get him and his whole family killed. And his friends. And the worst thing was, he didn't even know what the hell the war was about. And his mission was to disable school children. Which was condescending as hell, since what could anyone at this dump of a public school do to stop a magical maniac. And everyone had the nerve to tell Draco he should be honored. Yeah. A real honor, being a half breed, with wild magic that he could hardly control, who only felt at peace with himself when he was transformed into an unmagical scavenger. And who was a risk to the general populace of his school, because he was also contagious when he was a rampaging wild and evil killer.

He hated being strong armed into this, he felt angry and bitter, at all the adults trying to involve him, and his friends in a stupid conflict that was about stupid reasons and opinions, and it was as if people actually cared.

He sulked the whole way to Hogwarts, glowering at the skyline as Scotland streaked by.

When they did reach the school, he just shoved past Potter and Weasley, ignoring their taunts. He was too busy brooding about things he had no hope of changing to deal with shoving each other around like 14 year olds right now.

He picked at his food, fluttering his hand dismissively when Crabbe tried to sneak a treacle tart onto his plate. Vince was the concerned type, who also was improperly informed by Millicent's helpful distribution of advice garnered from her mother who was a Healer at St. Mungo's. She had told Draco that if he didn't regulate his eating habits he would have nutritional deficiencies, and be underweight for life. Vince took it upon himself to try to sneak food onto his plate, and at some point last year Pansy and Blaise had joined the crusade to feed him.

Draco stared vacantly in the direction of the first years, almost feeling sorry for them. The other three houses were likely to give them a hard time, and their parents would have high expectations for them, and the teachers would all look at them and think, evil scum, but 11 year olds aren't evil. Neither at 13 year olds, 14 year olds, or even 17 year olds. No one is pure evil, and didn't they think that alienating little kids from the moment they arrived at boarding school without their parents to protect them, would maybe make them turn out not to like mainstream wizarding society?

He ignored his food in favor of glorious coffee, letting the hot stinging liquid burn his throat a little as it went down, thick and acrid, making him feel warm and alive.


	7. A Spark That Starts A Fire

Disclaimer: I don't even own my own house.

Chapter Disclaimer: not much, perhaps some cursing? It's a short one, thats sort of important though? To me anyhow. Anyways, enjoy!

At the house meeting, Draco glared at Snape, as the man condescendingly ignored him. He used to love the man, but he was unsure about his loyalties, he had see Snape, watching Draco get cursed within inches of his life, and the man hadn't even looked upset. It was probably his fault that they were all branded as Death Eaters.

He scowled, and turned his gaze to his finger nails, openly, and subtly ignoring everything that came out of Snape's mouth. Tides were shifting, and he no longer felt secure enough to throw around his attention and loyalties.

* * *

Draco and Blaise sat side by side on Draco's trunk, while Greg and Theo sat on Draco's bed, and Vince sat on his own bed. They were all idly talking about their summers. Though, Theo was tight lipped, since he had gotten into a blow up with his dad, about not wanting to take the Dark Mark. Vince had escaped it by being sent to Germany to work at his uncles apothecary. So really they were talking about nothing, while they all tried to pretend that no one was being pulled to opposite sides of a war that no one wanted to fight.

"What are we going to do?" Draco said it suddenly, interrupting something about some german drinking game, looking at Theo steadily, then to each of his friends. He was starting to panic, as his sense of self preservation and his sullenness about being used by people who didn't even know him began to run rampant.

The looks he got were mostly blank. Right. So probably, he should clarify. "About, you know, everyone's parents. And the whole Dark- Voldemort. Thing. You know."

He go a flinch from Greg, a shocked expression from Vince, speculation from Theo, and nothing from Blaise.

"Wellll," Theo began slowly, "You and Greg and Blaise sort of, had to take the mark this summer, and You-know-who has got me and Vince's parents by the balls, and well he's also got me and Vince by the balls, because you know, the transitive property. And well, he's also got Millicent, and Terry, and Liam, and Morag, and Pansy, and well, almost all of us by the balls. Well not the girls, I suppose he has them by the lady bits. But I was well brought up, so I can't specify." He added the last part hastily, gesticulating wildly.

"I don't want anyone forcing me into anything though," said Draco, although he admittedly felt like a petulant child when he did. Blaise sighed, and opened his mouth, probably to tell Draco that everything wasn't about him, and that wars were not fought nor resolved for the comfort of teenage boys. Draco cut him off quickly, "And I don't think we should all suffer for a cause none of us are committed to. I don't even know the cause. And I don't have the mark, Theo."

He raised his sleeve in proof, slouching against the wall in a most improper fashion. "Draco, going against our parents on this isn't like wearing muggle trousers, or like going to the christmas party high, this is one of those things that they might never forgive. Well, my mother won't, your father wont, Greg's father won't, Pansy's dad would kill her; this isn't just being rebellious teenagers or anything. This is one of those big decisions that might get us all killed, disinherited, or banished."

Blaise spoke slowly, but he sounded more nervous than angry. Blaise's dad had been killed in the last war, and Blaise didn't even remember him. Theo's mum had been killed by the Dark Lord, only two years ago, and Crabbe's aunt and uncle, and their three kids had been killed just 6 months ago, for what the Dark Lord deemed as not enough loyalty.

"The body count is high on our end," Said Vince softly, looking at his hands, twisting his ring.

When it came down to it, that was that.


	8. And now for something a little different

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.

Authors warning/note: Hey, so I'm not good at writing Harry, but what the hell, I gave it a shot. Comments and constructive criticism is always more than welcome!

"He's up to something. I just know it." Harry narrowed his eyes, glaring at the Slytherin table. Yesterday, Malfoy had skipped astronomy, and Sinistra had let him get away with it. Harry suspected she was under the imperius, or maybe had been seduced by the side of the dark.

And also, Malfoy wasn't rising to Harry or Ron's bait. And there was a rumor that he might have demanded Higgs let him be reserve seeker instead of the real seeker this year. He also looked tired, probably from being so evil. And he probably had the dark mark.

"Harry, maybe he just grew up over the summer? He's just a git," Hermione said peacefully, still cocooned in her homework, eating some toast, not even looking up to assess Malfoy as he assuredly, and evilly read the paper.

"An evil git," mumbled Harry mutinously, prodding Ron, who was asleep, face first in a bread basket. His friends were being terribly unsupportive. He was an expert sort of, at fighting evil, didn't they trust him to be able to identify an evil plotting death eater?

He glared, watching as the Slytherin table seemed suspiciously quiet. Only 4 slytherin seventh years remained, but the rest of the house was whole, but they were all being quiet and orderly, and Harry didn't like it. He suspected those missing slytherins were probably already off at Death Eater camp, learning how to undiluted their evil.

Malfoy looked tired, staring vacantly at the paper, and Harry had to admit, that at the moment he looked like the only thing he was in danger of doing was keeling over and taking a nap. But after the nap, he would probably teach the Slytherin first years how to cast the unforgivables. Bastard.

Harry had also seen Malfoy skulking about in the forbidden forest last night. But when he'd gone to get Ron to show him, Malfoy had disappeared. Probably off to worship Voldemort. All in all, this ignoring Harry in favor or slinking around was very suspicious.

He was still glaring at his eggs and trying to figure out what to do, when Hermione dragged him and a very sleepy Ron off to potions. Where Malfoy sat in the back, and ignored Harry, even when Harry gave him his angriest glare. Malfoy in fact, seemed not to notice anything, just resting his head on Pansy Parkinson's arm, and ignoring the whole world. And of course, Snape let him do it, instead busying himself with making Harry's life awful. Stupid Slytherin favoritism. It was all very very unfair.

After class, which Harry had gotten a zero for, as Snape had _accidentally_ dropped Harry's flask of finished potion, Harry decided to try to talk to Malfoy. He had to be talked out this evil, it wasn't good. But as Harry pushed his way through some students, Zabini stopped him by spinning and squaring his shoulders, eyes narrowing at Harry.

"Let me through, Zabini, I want to talk to your all mighty ruler," Snapped Harry, shoving him, when the boy refused to step aside.

A cruel smile played on Zabini's face. "No," Zabini drawled lazily, though it did not sound as polished as it would have if Malfoy had said it. Zabini was big, and while he looked nearly as tired as Malfoy, instead of being withdrawn, the wear and tear looked mean and dashing on him. Malfoy looked like a sick, drawn maiden with the Fainting Spells, but Zabini looked a little dangerous, tired.

Before Harry could whip out his wand, Hermione was on him, dragging him towards the stairs, nearly hysterical about the prospect of being late to charms.

* * *

Harry watched as the oldest 15 or so slytherins were huddled in a dungeon passage way. They had been there for quite a long time, sometimes pacing, sometimes not, and it took every ounce of strength Harry possessed not to run to Hermione and show her the map, pointing at the undoubtedly devious going on's of the slytherins.

Then, the group began to move, and they were leaving the castle. It was Friday, tomorrow was Quidditch, where on earth were they going? Into the dark forest to sacrifice a goat to Voldemort? To have an orgy behind the quidditch pitch? Harry didn't like it. Not one bit. They were going off campus now, after hours. Which was against the rules. He stood up, and stalked downstairs, shoving past Seamus grouchily, and ignoring Ron and Hermione. They would only roll their eyes at him, he needed to tell Dumbledore, someone who would understand the potential danger here. They were at war, and there were slytherins on the loose. Surely someone would see to it that they were at least questioned. Suspicious little buggers.


	9. Work Hard, to Play Hard

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Authors note: I think I want this to be H/D slash eventually, so I'll be off to change the stats soon. Warnings for this chapter involve a sulky Draco, implied nudity, implied some kind of sexual relationship.

"So?" Draco deadpanned. He was exhausted, he had been loose in the forest with Blaise during his transformations, and it had been hard to let himself turn back into a human afterwards. And Pansy was nattering on about how Potter landed himself detention because last week Snape had caught him skulking around the halls at night. And Draco couldn't begin to care.

Last weekend, he had gone clubbing with some of the others, and not only had he gotten drunk at the three broomsticks, and not only had both he and Blaise showed off their unlicensed shape shifting, but when they had shifted back, neither of them was focused enough to stay clothed. They'd been able to get their stuff back the next day, but they had still walked home starkers, but not before making fools of themselves. He was hung over (well not really anymore, but emotionally hung over), tired from it only being a few days after transformations, and if he had one more slytherin whistle, leer, or ask him anything involving the terms doggie style he was worried he might get tossed out of Hogwarts for hexing that unfortunate souls important bits off.

And of course, him and Blaise stumbling into the common room, naked, drunk, and long before any of the others showed up did nothing to stamp out the rumor Pansy had gleefully started over the summer about he and Blaise's supposed tryst.

Two days later, and now some of the Ravenclaws (Roger Davies had got the story out of Baddock, traitor that he was) had joined in the fun, and Lisa Turpin, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Stephen Cornfoot had all greeted him this morning with leers and Cornfoot had even cat called to Blaise.

"Draco," Snapped Pansy, ripping him from his sullen reverie, "He was apparently trying to find Dumbledore to tell him we were sneaking off grounds to go report to You-Know-Who."

Draco snorted. "What the whole lot of us? Doesn't give us much credit for stealth does he? What did Snape do?"

"He came down, and the smaller Baddock dutifully informed him that it was unethical for teachers to go rousing students out of their beds, as it might be inappropriate, but that he was certain we were all in bed."

Draco smiled weakly over at Malcom Baddock who smugly smiled back. It was a good move, putting himself in favor of the older Slytherins. "Clever little-" Draco began affectionately.

"Draco. Really." Pansy pursed her lips, cutting him off before he could swear.

"Drop the prim and proper act Parkinson, we all certainly saw you drop it, if you know was I mean, on Friday," Draco's tone was leering but playful, and even though Pansy shoved him, hard, he knew it was in good fun. The prim and proper thing, though it may have been drummed into all of the, as children, they had had great fun smashing those rules one by one starting at age 12, and by now they were the uncultured swine their parents had warned them about.

Theo smirked, he was notoriously good at keeping his clothes on, a skill that only he and Vince possessed, the rest of them tended to become no better than drunk sailors. Blaise got all the girls, Draco made everyone laugh, a pity lay maybe, Pansy bullied people into her bed, Greg tried to take off his clothes while poor Vince and a drunk and overly helpful Drunk Millie tried to get him not too, Adrian was loud and saucy, Morag earned herself he nickname, Morag the Slag, and Liam, Tracy, Daphne and Terry were all the kind to take of their clothes with minimal encouragement- as long as everyone else was.

Of course, Liam hadn't had the brainlessness to tell Davies about exactly how Blaise and Draco had gotten naked, but amongst the Slytherins there was a resigned awe. Granted, they would rather die than admit it (okay, maybe not die) but Draco was sure, and for the first time in a while he felt a small ripple of the satisfaction that had poured out his every pore in the past.

Of course, now everyone had taken to nicking books on becoming an animagus from the restricted section, and innocently asking McGonogall about any subtlety they thought they could get away with. It made Blaise and Draco nearly as smug as Tiny Baddock, because they had an up in already having figured the complex magic out.

Granted that smugness was a bit suppressed by Blaise having a Dark Mark, and Draco turning into a blood thirsty monster he could barely control at least 3 times a month, if not more.

Since their conversation earlier in the year, there had been the subtle resentment for the Dark Lord, at least in Draco's own opinion. Draco sneered at anyone who had nice things to say about him, taunting his own parents for their stupidity for falling all over themselves for a faceless maniac, letting some of the others know that he felt strong armed into this, and that he wasn't happy about it.

It hurt, saying things like that about his parents, and he knew it was dangerous but he couldn't bring himself to care, he was angry, over worked, and tired. And it shouldn't be like this. It should be Draco making everyone laugh, playing Quidditch, effortlessly passing his classes, and maybe getting laid. And Blaise should be strutting about making the girls in 5th year feel lightheaded, and being their parents worst nightmare, and Pansy shouldn't look worried and drawn for her brothers all the time, and Theo shouldn't look for mail his angry family refused to send like a lost little boy every morning.

Baddock shouldn't have to take care of Tiny Baddock, Adrian shouldn't have been kicked out of his home last year, Tracy shouldn't be crying because this year, she was the only Seventh Year Slytherin girl. And none of them should have to be missing Callum Warrington, or Montague, or Marcus, or any of them. They were having their futures tossed out, they wouldn't be able to take their NEWTs, they would be killed either now, or the Dark Lord would kill them, or the Good people would toss them in prison. And it wasn't fucking fair, and even though he grudgingly was still working on his stupid pointless quest for His High Darkness Prince Of All That Is Evil, he couldn't help but feel resentful and angry instead of filled with loyalty and crazed fiery passion like his father had said.

Pansy slipped her hand in his, and squeezed, she could always read his mind, it seemed. She sort of agreed with him, well no she didn't she was scared, and she was angry, and it hurt that her brothers were gone and might get killed, and it hurt that Draco and Blaise and Greg, and Callum and Marcus before them had all been taken and tortured just because. And he knew that she wasn't all, worship prince potter about it, but that she was scared of both sides, and like him, was just trying to find comfort in just being a slytherin, just being here with her true friends, just for now.

But they couldn't turn on this bitter reality, not if they wanted to live past their 17th birthdays.


	10. Turning Point

Warnings: err, some angst? Oh and implied drug use, and theres a note on that at the end.

Disclaimer: I own only my thoughts.

Draco sat in transfiguration, bored-ly coloring all the o's on his text book. Transfiguration was fairly easy, well ok. No it was impossible, but it was all about imagination, and quiet focus, and restriction. And so of course, school children took ages to figure it out, but once one was threatened and the lives of his parents were waved around, being focused was something Draco could focus his fury into. And once you could master one transfiguration you could more or less master them all, and anyways he was trying to lay low. He could feel a weird camaraderie with Professor McGonogall, like his hyena wanted to sniff her cat (or something like that, but not like _that_), and he didn't want her noticing him.

Someone shoved past Draco's seat, knocking his chair, but he didn't bother looking up. He had too much to deal with right now and self righteous Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, and even the occasional Ravenclaw playing the age old classic of knock around the evil Slytherin demon spawn, well, they were below his notice at the moment.

He felt the overwhelming weight of the world eating at him again, and sulkily shoved his text book into Blaise' next to him.

"What? Some of us are trying to learn," Hissed Blaise, haughtily. But he was full of it, Blaise had always been gifted at transfiguration, and this simple spell was no problem for him.

"Blaise, lets do drugs. We've slept around, we've been drunk, and naked in front of everyone, we even tried gambling. Lets do drugs."

"Draco, you are aware that there isn't a methodical checklist of rebellion that you have to have filled out and signed by a professor to get into the seventh year."

"Afraid, Zabini?"

"No, I don't ever get scared. But where would we even get drugs? Come off it Draco, don't we have enough to worry about this year without adding to your list of shameful addictions?"

Draco gave him a dark look. "I am not-"

"Your blood is nearly one hundred percent coffee. Sometimes I fear that you aren't even human anymore, but some mutated, moving, talking coffee bean," whispered Blaise morosely, sadly surveying his friend, but he gave himself away with a little grin, moments later.

"Come on," wheedled Draco, prodding Blaise with the ink stained, sharp point of his quill.

"Draco. Honestly, can't we at least wait until the weekend or a party, I can't imagine getting to take Care of Magical Creatures is something we're considering celebrating."

Draco sighed, and went back to his reading. In all the sagas, all the tortured villains got to do drugs, or drink angrily. But when Draco drank he became some kind of friendly flirtatious monster, and that wasn't very villain in disguise. Then again, he though darkly, he would probably end up being some kind of loving fool when under the influence. And he didn't want to actually depend on drugs. Couldn't a boy get some romance? For heavens sake he was a werewolf killer villain couldn't he darkly do drugs and drink, and lead a sexually salacious life, and then die in a handsome and artful way preferably that wouldn't hurt too much. Apparently not, apparently he was doomed to be the too pale, non-romantic villain who probably gets mauled or something.

And the apparition was not going well at all. First off, he could only practice when he shook everyone off, and secondly, he had to go off the grounds to do it, which was dangerous, as he might get noticed. And then of course, there was his building reluctance to please the Dark Lord.

And being in control, and embracing his inner wolf, and so on, and all the rubbish that Gibbs, one of Greyback's werewolves had told him to do, well that wasn't working supremely either. Draco found himself resenting power figures, found himself oddly territorial of his friends, and couldn't help but want to protect first years. For the love of god, this wolf nonsense was turning him into an indecisive, moody sop who was tolerant of children's shenanigans.

And all this shape shifting made him feel about 600 years old, leading him to the conclusion that he was feeling Grandfatherly feelings towards the squirts of Slytherin. And that made him nauseated.

"What's he sulking about this time?" Pansy asked, leaning back casually so she was in earshot of them. She was sitting directly in front of them with Morag, but neither of them was paying any attention.

"My glamorous lifestyle takes its toll, Parkinson," said Draco, sniffing indignantly. Sulking in deed. He didn't sulk. He brooded. Handsomely.

"Glamorous? Draco, yesterday you were excited about astrological charts."

Draco ignored Pansy, and her subtle playful way of joking about his whole moon, time of the month dilemma and pointedly looked up at McGonogall, pretending to be enraptured by her complex diagram on the board.

Later, as they were leaving the classroom, Draco was nearly knocked over by an overenthusiastic hand gesture by one of the Weasley's, he couldn't be bothered to identify which one. Once, he would have gladly taken that as an excuse to fire off some hexes, but this year, when if he got overly angry about anything, he had a tendency to turn into a magical beast, he just shoved past, ignoring the cries of Gryffindor outrage and dismay.

He was shoving past the hoard of outrage, and he was actually sort of sure he could vaguely hear someone calling him, but the voice wasn't someone that was his, wasn't a Slytherin, or the one or two Ravenclaws he could tolerate, so he just kept rudely knocking people out of his way until he could reach the dungeons. It was lunch hour, and nearly everyone would be eating, and Draco needed to open the package he had gotten this morning. He locked the door to the sixth year boys room, and opened it carefully.

Before he could fully realize what he was seeing, he blacked out, swallowed into a scream of pain.

Authors note: A note on the drug use and rebellion: I imagine that Draco and his gang would be likely to try and rebel against their highly conservative and restrictive parents, and since they were brought up in a world, where there aren't that many consequences until of course this whole Voldemort nonsense.


	11. Just Another Toy Soldier

Disclaimer: I got nothing, folks.

Warnings: I probably wrote this weird. I can't ever come to peace with Crabbe and Goyle being idiots because they are big, I dunno, so I just made them quiet and introspective in their own way. I probably didn't do Goyle justice in any way here, but let me know what you think! Also, I can't decide if I like switching POV's for some bits, or if the inconsistency is irritating me. Ah well. Enjoy, its a short, but sweet one!

Greg was walking down into the dungeons, looking for Draco. Pansy and Millie had that wild look in their eyes, demanding he eat, and that Greg must fetch him at once, and also Greg was charged with informing Draco for the last time, that coffee is not a food. He entered the common room, pausing to make sure Draco wasn't sprawled on any of the couches. Draco had been weird, and mutinous this year, and Blaise had been nervous, and Theo had been twitchy, and Vince had been quiet, but Greg tried not to let things get to him. Not the burning in his arm, not his parents, who hadn't even wanted him, and certainly not school. But sometimes he felt like his real family was here, with Vince, and Blaise, and Theo, and especially Draco. Draco was strong, but he was also really emotional, and really brilliant, but really crazy, and he did everything too much or too little. He never ate or slept enough, he was always strung out and exhausted from pushing it with his magic, and he was taking this all like it was all his fault. But wars aren't teenagers fault. Not that Draco would ever listen to Greg about something like this.

Greg froze when he heard a low, guttural scream of pain and rage. He sprinted towards the door to their dorm, nearly knocking over Tiny Baddock (well that what Draco called him, everyone else called him Malcolm).

"Get Zabini," Greg said, and shoved Malcolm towards the common room.

Greg tentatively tried the door knob, but it was locked. He took a deep breath, took a few steps back, and slammed into the door as hard as he could. It shook, and creaked promisingly, and when Greg tried again, harder, the whole thing just fell to the ground, sort of splintered in the middle.

Draco whirled around, and just seeing him nearly made Greg turn and run. He was paler than eve, the pits beneath his eyes more pronounced. There was no blood flow to his face, and he looked pointer, and ore tightly drawn than usual. And his eyes were blank with despair, his shoulders drawn tight.

"Hey Draco." Greg tried not to sound tentative but he was pretty sure he failed.

Draco clutched what looked like maybe some parchment close to his chest, and his lips moved without a sound for a moment.

Greg put his hands up, the universal sign of surrender, and took a few steps towards Draco. "What- What is that? What's wrong?" Damn voice. He was sure he sounded scared this time. What the hell was shaking Draco up this much? Draco got mad all the time, but this was not usually how he reacted to things. At all.

Draco just shook his head, clutching the parchment tighter, closing his eyes, tightly. Greg took another step forwards, but then Draco's eyes snapped open, and his lips flew back in a snarl, and he dropped to the ground, contorting. It looked sort of gross when Draco turned into a werewolf, his bones made these crunching and stretching sounds, and his body twisted in unnatural ways, and his face looked like he was in a lot of pain.

Greg took a few cautious steps back, Blaise was better at handling this than Greg had ever been, and hopefully he could come and make everything better. Also, secretly, Greg was sort of scared that Draco might not recognize him like he could recognize Blaise when he was all werewolf. Draco and Blaise were more intense, they seemed to communicate on an extra level, Blaise was handsome and girls love him, and Draco had this bright hot charisma, and he could make anyone laugh, and the two of them each thought the other was better, and they competed and squabbled, and were just… different from everyone. It didn't seem to bother Theo, and it didn't exactly bother Greg, it just. Made him worried sometimes.

Blaise sprinted in, past Greg, and fell to his knees next to Draco. A low growl came from where they were huddled as Blaise reached for the crumpled papers. He uncurled them, ignoring Draco, and froze. He got up, smoothing the papers, and turned slowly to Greg.

It was cold, but the early October chill that swept through the dungeons was nothing though, compared to the ice that ran through his veins. It was a wizarding photograph, of the Malfoy Manor burning. He watched numbly, and then realized, it was a clipping from the Daily Prophet's late edition, it said _MRS. MALFOY, MRS. PARKINSON, AND MRS. BADDOCK, FOUND DEAD IN BURNT MALFOY MANOR. MRS. AVERY AND MRS. GREENGRASS AT ST. MUNGO'S IN CRITICAL CONDITION._

"Get the others, Greg," Blaise said quietly. Greg just nodded numbly, and turned to do what he did best, and follow Blaise's orders.


	12. Outside Looking In

Disclaimer: I got nothin'.

Warnings: err more silent slytherin angst, hey they are very angsty people ok, gah idk I rather like this chapter. Comments are welcome!

When Greg returned with the others, Blaise had convinced Draco to calm down enough to turn back into a person. No one but him and Greg knew that particular secret. No one wanted to say anything, but their mothers usually tended to have tea, and the fact that it was mostly people whose mothers had tried to shelter their kids that had ended up hurt, well, it mean that it probably wasn't an accident. Blaise maneuvered Draco onto his bed and parked him there, and then returned to look at the wrapping. It had been sent in a shabby cardboard box, and all that was in there was the Prophet clipping. The late edition wasn't due to come out until the early evening, so someone had gotten ahold of it early.

Greg let in Pansy, Theodore, and Vince. Pansy saw Draco and went over to him, but Draco held out his hands, shaking his head. "Show her," he said softly, his eyes looking desperately at Blaise. Blaise looked down at his hands, holding the folded clipping shut. How could he… how could he just show her? He had to tell her, she couldn't find out like this… But Pansy was already moving towards him, hand held out demandingly. He hesitantly handed her the slightly crumpled paper.

She unfolded it and Blaise could see the reactions run across her face, clear as day. First, sorrow to see Draco's house burning to the ground, then she noticed the title. Then she froze, and dropped the paper like it was on fire. Her eyes flashed angrily, and she grabbed the nearest solid object (Vince's beaters bat) and threw it as hard as she could against the wall. Then she turned to Draco, and collapsed on his bed, suddenly drained, pressing her forehead against his arm, sobs racking through her body. Draco looked numb, and hurt, and just touched her arm lightly. Blaise snatched up the clipping, and herded the four other boys towards the door.

"Come on, we have to find Daphne, Astoria, Liam, and Malcolm. We can't let them find out from the prophet."

Theo reached out, and grabbed Blaise's arm. "Can't let them find out what?" His voice was gentle, hushed, and his eyes were wide. Pansy and Draco weren't exactly the ice beings their parents were but they rarely just lost it like that.

"Let me. Stay with Pansy."

Draco's voice was hoarse, but it didn't waver. He rose, gently dethatching Pansy, and he walked forwards, plucking the paper from Blaise's hands.

"Draco-"

"Don't Blaise. I have to. It has to come from me, from one of us."

Blaise hesitated, but moved to the side, and went back to Draco's bed. He sat on one side of her, Theo on the other. Vince and Greg followed Draco without hesitating. Draco didn't wave them off, actually he didn't seem to notice anything, he just took a deep breath and then went slowly up towards the common room.

"Malfoy Manor burnt down. There were people inside." Blaise said softly, hoping Pansy wouldn't hear, to Theo, since he looked mutinous about being kept out of the loop. Before either boy could respond, Pansy added, her voice thick from sobs, "My mum is- she's- she's gone."

Theo's eyes were wide and he was quiet. Pansy buried her head in Draco's pillow, still crying. Blaise gently stroked her back. She didn't relax like she had when Draco had awkwardly patted her, but she did lean into him slightly, sniffling.

"Don't cry, Pans, I'm sure Flitwick won't mind if we skip class, he's just a little man with a stick, no need to be afraid," said Theo gently, smiling, though it didn't reach his eyes.

Pansy hiccupped and kicked him lightly with her foot. She didn't laugh, but she did try to offer him a weak smile before she curled up like a dejected cat around Draco's pillow.

They sat there in silence, Blaise stroking Pansy's back, Theo fidgeting with the edge of the drapes on Draco's bed, for what seemed like an eternity.

Blaise looked up, at Theo, lost. What was happening to them. Two years ago, it was only Blaise and Theo that didn't have two parents together demanding the world of them snottily, and Blaise's mum was doubly demanding so that was ok. Two years ago, Blaise's main concern was trying to date his way through school, Greg's main concern had been passing DADA, Vince's main concern was trying to fix Draco's coffee addiction, Theo's main concern had been trying to get into Mandy Brocklehursts blouse, and Draco's main concern was trying to seduce one of his many wistful crushes (that he got every week, on a new girl at that).

This year, Blaise's main concern was keeping everyone from seeing his dark mark, keeping Draco alive and in control, keeping all the secrets, staying alive, and trying to help Draco with whatever his Super Top Secret Mission from the man without the nose was. Greg's main concern was how his father would be disappointed in him if he didn't keep Blaise and Draco in line, how to keep Vince out of all this, and he still needed to pass DADA. Vince's main concern was trying to keep the guilt about not having to be branded getting to him, trying to get Draco to eat, and stop drinking coffee, and trying not to have constant panic attacks about his friends getting killed. Theo's main concern at this point, was probably somewhere along the lines of having panic attacks over his friends imminent deaths, his father strong arming him into being a Death Eater, his father disowning him, and the nightmares of his mothers murder that haunted him at night.

And Draco… Draco had all these weird hang ups and odd moral rules, and he was so decisive about it. Draco felt responsible for every Slytherin in the dungeon, and he constantly did things like become enraged when someone in another house was rude to them, but then he was a rude little demon. He bossed around and bullied the first years, but if the same first years were picked on by anyone outside the dungeons, Draco would work himself into a territorial snit. This year, the angrier and more wild he got, the more Blaise worried that Draco was taking it upon himself to protect each and every Slytherin from their own parents. Draco's hatred of the Dark Lord was far stronger than his fear, something that wasn't true for almost anyone else Blaise had ever met. Draco's main concern was keeping the fact that he was a werewolf and an unregistered animagus a secret, accomplishing his super secret ultimate mission, worrying about everything, and now… mourning his mother.


	13. The Quiet Before

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Authors note/warning: There's cursing. We're back to Draco! On another note, so I post a chapter, every time I write a new one, and I'm about 10 chapters ahead. And I just wrote the first Harry Draco scene! So. Get excited? Granted, it's the first one in the book so they don't bang, or even really like each other, but it's better than nothing? Comment's and edits appreciated!

The next day, Draco tried to skip breakfast. But Blaise just shook his head, and murmured, "They need you."

Draco sighed. He knew that. He knew that now, all they had was each other. Well. They also had siblings and fathers and parents, who had all stood around and let the manor burn. He tried to calm himself, wishing he could take more calming draught, and got up.

He had fallen asleep in his clothes, and didn't bother changing, just vaguely smoothed back his hair, and not even bothering to grab his school robes. At the bottom of the stairs they met the silent group of the rest of them, the rest of who knew what had happened, who'd felt it, personally somehow.

Draco took Pansy's hand in his, and Daphne's in the other. Neither girl was crying, or showed signs of any emotion. Stonily taking things was expected of them, god forbid the miniature death eaters have a stray emotion. He noticed that both girls were immaculately dressed, but Liam and Tiny Baddock both looked like they were dealing just like Draco, neither looked as if they'd ever met a comb.

Actually eating breakfast went differently for every single person. Well. Most managed something, but for once Pansy didn't eat a bite, and let Draco get away with the same thing. Astoria managed juice, and just laid her head on her sisters shoulder after that, eyes closed, weary. Tiny Baddock tried to take a big bite of some toast, and got up, running from the hall, possibly to void his stomach.

Draco tried to seize all 4 coffee pots, but Blaise only allowed him two, ignoring Draco's pathetic bleat that coffee was his life. Draco felt oddly numb, void of emotion. Instead of angry, and overwhelmed, he felt calm, and like his anger was more aggressive then ever, but on a different level, hidden within.

He felt like instead of a pawn hung in suspension, like he was watching a game, and the dice had fallen where they might. He looked blankly at the piece of parchment that was dropped on his empty plate, summoning him to the head masters office, this evening. The same parchment was on anyone's who parents had died's plates.

"They're going to ask you to switch sides…" Millie said quietly.

Draco got up, squaring his shoulders. "I'm going back to the common room. Classes can go to hell," he said in a calm, clear voice.

He meant to just walk as fast as he could, but half way to the dungeons, he found a roughed up Tiny, crying.

Draco dropped to his knees, kneeling next to the boy, curled up, hugging his knees to himself. Draco reached out, but his hand faltered, and instead, he ended up just sort of poking the little Baddock.

"The-they said that we d-d-d-d-deserve what-t w-w-we got," Tiny managed.

Instead of flying into a rage as he might have once, Draco just felt sick. He sighed, and got up, pulling Tiny to his feet, and steering him to the dungeons. He didn't need to ask who they was. Who ever it was, Draco wasn't surprised. How very one minded of them. What the hell was wrong with just about everyone. He parked the smallest Baddock on one of the common room couches, and then he sat on a different on, just watching the fire.

Before long, Pansy, Daphne, and Morag appeared, Blaise and Vince trailing after them. Liam showed up a few minutes later, joining everyone sitting quietly, watching the fire, and eventually Theo, Adrian and skittish looking Antony Vaisey, who took a seat next to Tiny Baddock, so quickly he nearly fell into Baddocks lap.

They sat in silence for some time, before Draco realized he knew what he was going to do next. He looked up slowly, his eyes resting on Blaise's.

"I'm leaving." He said quietly, as Blaise met his gaze levelly, clearly not that surprised. His announcement was met with silence.

"What about school?" Morag asked softly.

"I wish I could believe that the school would be left alone. But it won't. And this, this just keeps getting worse. They all hate us here. I can't do it anymore, and if this, this thing becomes a war, I can't see either side letting me live."

"So you're just running away?" Pansy's angry voice almost barbed him out of his numbness, but not quite.

"I never said that. I am going to go get revenge for my mother, and then I am going to do the best I can to just survive and deliver the most damage I can." Draco let Pansy's head fall back on his shoulder, almost as if she was exhausted by her own outburst.

"Why don't we go to Potter and Dumbledore, then?" Asked Vaisey, his voice quiet.

"Never," snapped Baddock the smaller, his red rimmed eyes turning angrily to his friend. "They hate us, they won't trust us, they won't accept or respect us, and I will never be on their side."

"I'm going to be on my own side. That's how its always been for us," Draco said, before anyone could snap back at the little Baddock. "I'm leaving tonight. Come if you want, don't if you don't want, tell on me if you feel like it. Slytherin is the closest family I've got left, but I can't stand around waiting for the Dark Lord to come get Potter and Dumbledore, and they'll probably just lock us up down here in the dungeon and leave us to rot. And I just. I'm going to go get my things."


	14. Vanishing Act

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Chapter Warning/Authors Note: Theres likely some cursing. Oh and a deer is killed. Deer-icide. The plot is nearly to where my favorite plot line picks up and I'm excited to see what you guys think! Comments, edits, and constructive criticism are always more than welcome!

Draco walked along the narrow path, winding through the forbidden forest. Behind him, silently filed his classmates, those who had decided to come. He was trying not to panic, more had come than he expected, honestly he sort of thought it would just be him, and Vince and Pansy and maybe a few of the others. And by a few he meant one or two.

Blaise followed him, something that made him feel better. He always felt that Blaise could take over the world if he weren't so damn lazy, he was so much more politic than Draco could ever be, and more handsome, and charismatic and better at saying what people wanted to hear.

Draco glanced back at the rest of the group, their silhouettes almost romantic against the setting sun. They were near the edge of the forest, walking along and Draco saw that the walls that surrounded the grounds. It was becoming shabbier, and more worn down, and Draco was looking for the spot where it had to break. The forbidden forest was enormous, and not all of it was on Hogwarts grounds, and so the wall had to break at some point, otherwise how would the centaurs and unicorns and so on and so forth and Slytherin werewolves escape out into the world so easily.

He saw the spot, and paused turning around. "This would be the time to turn back. Once outside the wards it will be hard to get back inside, you'll have to walk all the way around the forest through Hogsmeade, through everything."

No one blinked, or hesitated, not much anyways.

"How are we going to get through?" Tiny Baddock looked a little nervous, but determined as ever.

"The wards are designed to keep everyone out, not keep us in."

Draco turned, and without hesitation, walked straight through one of the gaping holes in the crumbling stone wall. He moved on, not turning, not wanting to know who actually followed him. He continued straight on, until the wall was out of sight. He paused at the top of a small hill, gesturing with his head for Blaise to follow him down into the duvet, between the thick roots of the massive trees.

"Lets stop here."

Blaise just nodded, and took off his backpack, setting it down against a tree root, and plopping down onto the ground, leaning back on the tree.

"Liam, conjure us up a fire, if you will?" Draco turned, nodding to the older boy who just rolled his eyes and pulled out his wand. Pansy pulled hers out to help, but Theo reached out and blocked her, placing his hand over hers on her wand.

"We can't. Just Liam, he's the only one whose 17, we can't do magic unless we're on magical property, we've still got the trace on us."

"Pansy, you make sure everyone remembers the trace, Blaise and I are going to go figure out where the next train stop is, and find something to eat. Liam, make sure the fires warm enough, and cast a silencing charm on this clearing, Adrian, get a head count, make sure no one is lost, and Millie, find us some kind of spit to cook whatever Blaise and I kill on."

All he got in response was serious nods, the playful element to the Slytherin dungeons was gone. As soon as they were out of sight, Draco turned to Blaise. "You go find the railway, I'll kill a deer or something, then we'll meet somewhere in between to carry whatever I kill back."

Blaise shifted, landing in his wolf form already loping along, his thin wiry frame rapidly moving out of sight. Draco closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, shifting and pricking his ears forwards. He ran easily, sensitive eyes focusing to the dusky forest immediately. The wind carried strong smells on it, a deep forest-y musk, of rotting leaves littering the floor, in the distance, he could smell Centaurs, and of course, he could smell the familiar scent of the humans he'd just left. A bird moved, hundreds of feet away, twittering a high coo. He caught scent of a fire, in the distance to the north, and, something near by, whose heart was hammering. And it was big.

He lowered himself to the ground, as low as he could, and waited, eyes snapping into focus. He could smell grass, manure, something sweet and covered in fur, the lanolin oils tainted everything with a slightly salty scent.

A roe deer stepped cautiously into the clearing, tilting its head, small beady eyes darting back and forth. Draco held his breath, frozen in place, his thick black and brown and tan pelt camouflaging him to the surrounding underbrush. Draco waited, frozen, his brain crystal clear, in hyperdrive almost, his eyes unwaveringly focused on the roe doe. He was poised on his haunches, if he was a human, his leg muscles would be screaming, but as a hyena, he just felt alive, his only thought at the moment in the deer's heartbeat.

The moment the doe lowered her head to nibble on a leaf, Draco sprung, eyes wild, jaws open, teeth bared.

* * *

Draco leaned back, letting his body rest against the main trunk of a massive black oak tree, his stomach full. The ground was slightly damp, and it smelled earthy, and musty. The fire was giving off smoke, and the air was cold in some places, and comfortingly warm where the glow of the fire hit them. The tree was hard, nothing like his cushy bed back at home, or the warm bed in the Slytherin dungeon. But despite all of that, Draco felt oddly content, instead of upset at how the water that they had had to drink tasted cold, and earthen, and the deer had to be cut up and cooked and was not at all savory like the broth covered meal they would've surely been served back at the great hall.

Pansy shifted against him, and Draco adjusted his arm around her, letting his head fall onto Theo's shoulder on his other side. Blaise was stretched out next to the fire, Adrian and Liam were laying beside him, but of course were too manly to cuddle for warmth. Tiny was curled up, his head on his older brothers stomach, and Vaisey was stretched out next to him like a cat. Daphne and Morag were laying in between Draco's leg and Pansy's sprawled body, with Flora, Astoria, Harper and Hestia all curled up amongst one another not far from the older kids. Millie slept on Theo's other side, half propped up on a sprawling tree root. Last of all, Vince and Greg lay side by side on the last available stretch of space surrounding the fire, their bulk providing a comforting wall like presence on the side of their small camp not protected by either thick trees or their roots.

He knew this was stupid, that they were all taking off early, and that their families would feel betrayed, and that Dumbledore and his army or the light would feel that they were cowards running off. But honestly Draco didn't care, not even a little bit what they thought, he just was relieved that this many of them had come with him. It made him feel like something was starting, somewhere where when people looked this way they didn't just see either his last name and blood line, or where they didn't just see a death eater minion.

It was stupid, to think of classmates as family, but he really felt like they were, and at least now they were his. Which again, was silly, it had been his idea to go, but it was more of a rag tag leaderless group, than his pack, but that's what it felt like. It felt like being free.


	15. Leave The Filthy World Behind

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, I swear.

Note: Theres some character development here. This is a long one. I've been writing all day so maybe I'll post a few more chapters tonight, but more likely, I'll wait until tomorrow so I can read through the whole thing and make sure I'm happy with them. Thoughts, comments, and criticisms more than welcome! Enjoy!

Draco snorted, rolling his eyes, turning away from the younger kids, who were delightedly watching as Liam was trying to learn to be an animagus. It wasn't working that well because every time that it would get quiet and calm enough for Liam to possibly be focused, Hestia would whisper a possibility, but of course, it being Hestia, they were all ludicrous. Blaise was grinning toothily, but keeping quiet, trying to coach Liam.

"Come on, lets keep moving, and let poor Liam take a break from that vicious Carrow wit," Draco said rising, turning to offer Daphne his hand to hoist her up. The kid's groused, or pretended to, but they all got up. So far, their odd little group had come up with a hierarchy, but it was for the most part kids pretending that no one was dead, that they shouldn't be in school, and that none of them missed plumbing, and showers, and food not scavenged, stolen, or killed.

"Where are we going, Draco?"

Vaisey loped up, abandoning his spot next to Tiny and Harper. He was a relatively timid boy, but Draco suspected that as he got more comfortable, he would open up, after all he no longer said nothing, or squeaked when Vince and Greg got into one of their inevitable squabbles.

"We're going to get to Montrose, where there are enough wizards we can find some portkeys and maybe stay somewhere with heat, and then we are going to vote, and either go hide on the continent, get revenge on some people, or stay in the UK and try to hinder as many negative things as possible, and help as many people as we deem worthy."

Vaisey looked a little worried, but he usually did, and nodded, dropping to the back of the group to update Harper and Tiny on what he'd come up with.

"Are we really going to vote?" Adrian was walking on Draco's other side, and he bumped his shoulder against Draco's arm in a friendly manner.

"Yeah. But. I know I'm staying to fight something. I'm too invested to run. But I imagine we'll split up, I know I don't want any of the kids staying, not really."

"Those darned kids, they're so spoiled, not like us beat up old radishes," Adrian said mildly, rolling his eyes slightly, a small smile pulling on the corners of his mouth.

"Pucey, I have never been compared to a beat up old peasants vegetable, and I don't intend to start now," sniffed Draco haughtily, attempting to toss his admittedly slightly filthy hair in the most imperious way he could manage. Adrian laughed a full out laugh this time.

"Is he on about peasants again? All hail Queen Draco," said Theo, in a falsely proper and stiff voice, bowing deeply. Draco flipped Theo the bird, but grinned none the less. He was feeling lighter than he had in months, even though he was dirty, and his pants were ripped, and he was wandering along beside a train track with a small gang of school drop outs who parents would likely murder them if they could see them now.

They walked on in silence, and though none of them mentioned it, their feet hurt, shoulders hurt, backs hurt, and their hair was greasier than any of them had ever experienced. Eventually, Flora skipped up to them, slipping between Adrian and Draco. "Can we see your werewolf again, Draco?"

"Flora! How very dirty of you," jeered her twin sister Hestia from the back of the group, followed by the scandalized, "Let her see his werewolf, _indeed_." Flora blushed and rolled her eyes, but was pretty experienced at ignoring her sister, and she looked pleadingly at Draco.

His secret had not lasted long, as Blaise pointed out that if he didn't prove he could control himself before the full moon then likely someone would panic and try to kill him or something. So he had proved it, grudgingly, and then less grudgingly because lets face it, Draco was nothing if not a natural show off, switching between his human form, wolf form, and animagus. He'd made a game where the fourth and fifth years called out a form and he switched, as fast as he could, without hurting himself.

He rolled his eyes at Flora, and closed his eyes, letting himself fall almost, unlike the peace required to become an animagus, he just let go, like that moment of consciousness right before one wakes up, when they think they're falling so fast into nothing they might die, it was that feeling that was the best for a controlled transformation. He breathed out, and let himself fall, and catch, and shift.

He opened his eyes, his paws thudding to the ground, the pain of transformation something he was able to stomach when he expected it now. He glanced up, and met Flora's gaze levelly, his thick fur ruffling slightly in the wind that swept across the Scottish landscape.

Flora grinned, and reached forwards, running her hand through his thick fur. Draco growled a warning to her, but she ignored him, grabbing his tail lightly. Draco was able to at this point feel less like a wild carnivorous killer, at least when he was around them, this group, he felt more at home, more like he was tolerating an impertinent pup and less like he was challenged or wanted to murder someone or something.

"Draco, stop growling at me, I'll become scared," said Flora smugly, in a tone that suggested that she would do nothing of the sort. Blaise had sternly told them all not to joke around, that Draco in that form was contagious, and that they were to tell him seriously if they were frightened and not to bait him. Them being Slytherins, they had promptly ignored him.

Draco padded along, lengthening his stride to breeze past the group, his long stride feeling comfortable, his muscles feeling slightly tired. The less he slept in his human form, the more tired his werewolf form became, he found. Flora called to him, but he ignored her, loping along the tracks easily, his long stride carrying him out of sight of the group, up a hill, then down, then up another, and then he froze. He crouched low, spotting what he knew was a group of wizards. He could smell their magic, thick on the air, and he narrowed his eyes, looking for something to identify them by.

He caught a familiar scent, and spun, shifting effortlessly into his swifter hyena form, galloping along the landscape until the group of Slytherins came back into sight. He skidded to a halt, and shifted, hastily, and paused for a moment to catch his breath.

"Hide, come on, into the woods, up ahead, Death Eaters," he managed, between big breaths. Blaise turned to the rest of the group, taking command while Draco caught his breath.

"We'll split up. Morag, you take the younger kids, find a tree, climb it, or some trees, hide up in the air, out of sight. Liam, you stay near the edge of the forest, have your wand ready. Vince, you stay with him, watch his back. Greg, you take Theo, Adrian and the girls, and you guys hide along the other side of the tracks. Draco and I will come find you when it's safe. Remember, we just want to live, it doesn't matter who you see or what you feel, if the group is not compromised, do nothing. Does everyone remember what the code for it being safe it?"

There were a few nods, but mainly, everyone just ducked their heads, jaws set, and disappeared in their directed places. Draco and Blaise shifted, and moved forwards at a steady lope, Draco leading the way to where he had seen them.

It was some ministry shmuck, Dawlish or some such name, and Flora and Hestia's great Uncle Carrow, and two unmarked, odd smelling twenty something year olds. Draco twitched one ear to the left and heard Blaise pad off without question, and Draco himself slunk low along the bushes that grew next to the tracks.

"The Dark Lord is most upset, but most upset by the interest the ministry is taking, in searching for the infernal brats."

"Why are we looking here?" The uncultured grunt of one of the strangers that Draco hadn't recognized.

"One of the children was spotted by a witch who wrote to the prophet, but luckily Dawlish here intercepted it for us."

Draco could smell the disrespect. Draco would never tolerate that tone, the scent of scorn to be directed at him, but the other humans didn't appear to notice. Fuck. They'd been seen? Draco hadn't considered this. Damn. Draco closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, preparing to pounce, slinking closer, aiming for his quarry, fixating, and sinking back onto his haunches.

He sprang, his jaws closing around the one, Dawlish's leg, teeth crunching down as hard as he could before he let go, letting the foul smelling man's scream mask the sounds of him retreating.

"It's the Grimm!"

The hysterical scream came from one of the strangers, who screamed, and pointed at the direction Draco had disappeared in. Dawlish gave a bellow of pain, falling to the ground, and the younger stranger, not the one who had shrieked, looked pale, like he might pass out. Carrow closed his eyes, looking for patience he surely did not possess, and his arm snaked out, and the cracks of apparition rang through the air as the four disappeared.

Grimm indeed. Draco wasn't even black, he was brown. And his ears weren't the same at all.

Blaise the wolf appeared, trotting up to Draco and pressing his nose to Draco's neck, his tail down, ears relaxed. Draco held his tail and head up, accepting the gesture and looking pointedly in the distance.

Blaise let out a huff of breath and a soft, barely audible whine, the signs for none or gone, and enemy. Draco gave him a tail wag, and turned, loping back towards where they'd left the children, licking his blood stained lips, thinking as he ambled.

When they reached the place where they'd all left, Draco threw back his head, and let out the lowest toned cackle he could manage, the hyenas laugh echoing across the cloudy, stormy landscape.


	16. So You Say You Want A Revolution

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Authors note: So I don't write angst and constant depression all that well, although you might have been surprised by the amount of angst in the previous chapters. A girl needs some comic relief, so I have involved my favorite comic relief characters ever. And of course, for me, Draco himself is sometimes a comic relief character. Plus, the story is finally picking up, and anyways I've had too much sugar, so I just wrote a few comic relief chapters (ok like 3 or four of them in a row, but they're 4 or 5 chapters ahead of where I've posted). Sugar sugar sugar. Comments, edits, and criticism are always welcome!

* * *

"The muggle world? Draco? Really?" Daphne sounded a bit mournful.

"Yes! The muggle world. Look. We got spotted, and apparently, the wizarding world thinks we are either kidnapping the younger kids, or we have all been kidnapped, or that we are making a pilgrimage to sacrifice Malcolm to the Dark Lord or something. And we can't be seen again, and we've got the trace on us, though the more of us that turn 17 the less it'll look like unruly children, and more like some kind of odd Weasley-esque family." Draco rubbed his face, already tired of this argument.

"Okay," Daphne said, still sounding forlorn.

Pansy patted her friends arm in what she clearly thought was a comforting fashion. Draco glared as a beaming Flora approached him, her eyes a little too bright, with an over excited gleam that was to be feared from her. He sighed in what he hoped was a world weary and dramatic fashion, and arched an eyebrow at her.

"Draco. We should all have _code names,_" she said, with a dramatic flourish. She looked a little like a maniacal hamster with her bright eyes bugged out excitedly.

"Pray tell, why?"

"Because. It's for the cause. For the _revolution_," Flora was gesticulating wildly, her grin growing as she spoke more.

"What revolution? We're a group of children on the run, not a revolutionary elite team of magical assassins Flora. And more importantly no one is looking for us so hard that we need code names, we'll just pretend to be muggles."

"Draco, stop spreading lies. First of all, the muggle is an odd creature we could never hope to impersonate. Secondly, of course we are going to start a revolution, we can't just run away like a flock of hufflepuffs, we must avenge and save as many slytherins and maybe a ravenclaw or two, as we can. And lastly, even if we must attempt to hide amongst the muggles, what sort of muggle is named Draco? Or Hestia? Or Morag? Please. Those are nice wizarding names, untainted by the muggle."

"Flora. Stop referring to them as 'The Muggle', you are not writing a book on them. We… I am too weary for this, child."

"Draco. I am offended that you don't see the rational. This is for the good of the _revolution_. To improve our Slytherin name to the world and to kill some cloaked deviants while we are at it! It being the revolution. Now that that's settled, about the cod-"

"Save me from 13 year old girls and their illusions of the world. Flora, we are not part of a revolution. We are a group of kids that couldn't accomplish much even if we wanted to. And if we are going to survive, which should be our ultimate goal, we need to hide first before we make anybodies life difficult. We need a place to hide, and those cloaked figures, that's our fathers, uncles, brothers, aunts, and grandparents in some cases."

The look in little Flora's pale and drawn face, her hard eyes snapping at him, almost made Draco look away, but he wouldn't back down, no matter how impressed with her ferocity he was.

"They don't deserve to live. It's not like they gave us a chance then, did they?" Her voice was loud, and angry, and everyone froze, looking up. Hestia narrowed her eyes accusatorily at Draco, but came to calm her sister, bumping her twins shoulder firmly with her own.

Draco just looked at her, and sighed. He was suddenly tired again. Thirteen year olds shouldn't be so adamant, and he knew that joking slightly was Flora's method of calmly dealing with realities, and he almost felt bad for her. She was in his boat, family was known for mostly just being pureblooded Dark Lord lackeys, no matter what anybody did, or no matter how their descendants tried to make names for themselves apart from a few family members mistakes.

"Fine." He didn't even think it sounded like his voice when he said it, but Flora did appear mollified.

"So. Can I come up with code names?"

"Code names? Whatever for?" Daphne tilted her head, tuning in after Flora's outburst.

Flora's eyes lit up again with that maniac gleam that Draco feared, and said, "For the _revolution_."

* * *

That evening, they made it to the outskirts of a muggle town. The magic was thin in the air here, enough so that Draco and Pansy went to investigate the possibility of food that wasn't cooked by Slytherins, none of which had ever actually had to cook anything.

Pansy and Draco, along with the two seventh years had all agreed that they were all too recognizable, and they had to come up with some muggle clothes, and some muggle, or non magical at least disguises.

There had been some discussion of metamorph medals, but all in all, they had agreed that maybe something that couldn't be dispelled by a common charm might be their best shot at changing their appearances. And then of course, Pansy and Morag's eyes had lit up maniacally about the use of hair dyes and they had heard about muggle make ups that changed your skin and on and on, and oh joy, Draco had dropped out of school to wear make up. Good thing father couldn't see him now, or the poor man might simply die on the spot.

And now they had to work out how to nick clothes, food, and disguises, so that no one would strave, and so they might be able to catch a train or some other muggle method of travel south to either London, or the continent.

Pansy snagged his arm, dragging him towards a large stone building that looked dreadful. But outside the muggles had strung up their clothes like odd flags. "They left them out for us, does it count as stealing from helpless muggles if they left their clothes outside?" Pansy was frowning up at the large building as she muttered into Draco's ear.

It was true. Why would they have left them out? Maybe it was some kind of muggle rubbish ritual, and they didn't need them? Draco shrugged and wandered towards the weird little rope and stick area where the clothes were situated. Draco took off his rucksack, still charmed from when Liam had put the Undetectable Extension Charm on it. They began pulling clothes, neither of them thinking to look out for muggles, there were shirts, though they seemed a bit thinner than rational, and some had odd things splattered across the chests, bright words and the like. And then of course, pants, not unlike what the younger generation already wore, though these were different, more rugged looking. And then some odd jumper type things of an awful Scottish print that Pansy squealed at, but Draco grabbed anyways.

Then, a muggle yelled out something in a thick Scottish accent, and Draco and Pansy froze, and burst into laughter, snagging their final clothing trophies, and bolting back towards the woods, not bothering to check to see if they were being followed. They ran all the way back to where the others were huddled around a fire Liam had started up, out of breath, cheeks pink form exertion and adrenaline firing their laughter as they skidded to a halt in front of the others.

"Is there real food?" The hope in Greg's voice was tangible as he eyes Draco's rucksack hopefully.

"Everything costs muggle money, and we've none of that. Did you steal anything?" Millie's scolding voice may have been spot on, but it was punctuated by her stomach grumbling, so her admonishment didn't bother Greg any.

"We did nick muggle clothes," Draco said, changing the subject from everyone's painfully empty stomachs. Flora and Tiny brightened up, since poor Tiny had had his impressionable young mind warped by Flora's dramatic flourishing plans for her revolution.

Draco dumped out the muggle clothes they'd made off with, and Tiny and the Carrow twins began pawing through the piles delightedly. Blaise trotted out of the woods a few minutes later, dragging a decently sized poor murdered sheep, and so everyone was cheered, the younger ones because they got to be incognito as muggles, and the rest because their stomachs had been shrieking in hunger for a day or so now.


	17. Bringing into the light

Disclaimer: I got nothin'.

Authors Note/Warning: Wellll I tried to write a Harry chapter for you lot, but my skills are rusty, so lets go easy on me, huh? Not many warnings or notes, but let me know what you think of my portrayal of the Gryffindors.

* * *

"I still don't like it."

Hermione looked up, her temper clearly near explosion from Harry's insistence on conversation. He had followed her to the library, because Ron had taken to just flat out ignoring him when Harry tried to talk to him about his theories.

"Harry. You were right. They went off to do things for you-know-who, you were right, they were up to things while they were here, but now they're off, and now Hogwarts is really safe."

Her patience was obviously wearing thin, and she dove back into her book the moment she delivered the much repeated speech, her brown eyes daring him to try and distract her again.

Harry sighed angrily, swinging his bag over his shoulder and stalking out of the library, not bothering to give her a backward glance. He knew he should just be pleased that finally all distractions had left, and now the school was rid of nearly all potential Death Eaters. But no one would agree with him that none of it made any sense.

He scowled darkly at Peeve's though the poltergeist paid him no mind; he was busy throwing papers from the window, gleefully.

He wandered down, not even noticing as he was drawn down towards the lake. He was a little surprised when he spotted one of the Ravenclaws, err, Timmy Boot, or something sitting, with a telescope trained on the sky. It wasn't that dark, but the sun was out of the way, so the Ravenclaw wasn't just blinding himself, but this was hardly peak astronomy time.

He had a vivid flashback to that day when the whole school seemed all riled up about some rumor about the Slytherins breaking curfew, and Boot and one of the other Ravenclaws had been rather chummy with Zabini.

He redirected, and walked up to the Ravenclaw, hesitating before sitting down next to the boy, deciding that if he though Hermione was short tempered with him when he interrupted her homework Boot here might actually kill him.

Boot flicked his eyes sideways, and seemed mildly surprised to see Harry there, but his eyes were drawn back to his telescope instead of saying anything.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Boot sighed, and put his telescope down. "Yes?" He asked, though his tone wasn't the unfriendly brush off Harry had expected when he had disrupted the boys studies.

"I-Well, You, you know, you're, well, you were rather chummy with Malfoy and Zabini, weren't you?" Harry said, mentally cursing his lack of eloquence. If only Hermione believed him, she would surely be better about phrasing her questions.

"I guess. Blaise is a nice chap, and Draco's nice enough as long as you don't take him seriously."

The Ravenclaws tone was slow, measured, as he evaluated Harry through his spectacles.

"D'you know where they went, that whole lot of Slytherins?" Harry said, deciding that being direct would probably be the best way to get this all out in the open, and so that he could get his answers.

Boot pursed his lips slightly, and gave Harry a long look before he answered. "They didn't say, exactly. But. They didn't go off to fight for you know who."

"Did they tell you that?" Harry's interest was piqued. Maybe he needed some out of house friends that weren't as excitable as Ernie Macmillan or as spacey as Luna. This was the first time that someone had not thought that they were just off to be accepted into the fold.

"No, but they wouldn't be considered missing if their parents had pulled them out of school. And anyhow, you know who killed off some of their mothers, and no one can just overlook something like that. And anyways, why wouldn't they have left some of them, if they were death eaters, to try and kill you. Doesn't you know who try to kill you quite often? Why would he pull troops out of where you are? No, I don't know where they are, but I don't think they would've just up and gone like that."

Boot's voice was getting agitated and accusatory, but he checked himself, and finished his tirade with a more tired intonation than anything else. But before Harry could comment on his theories, Boot added a question.

"Why do you care where they went?"

"I don't know. I don't like to think about you know who having fourth years or even seventh years fighting his battles for him, and I guess I hoped they would be on you know, my- our side. The, err good guys, or what not."

Boot nodded thoughtfully, his agitation forgotten, and he turned back to his notes, obviously having decided their conversation was over. Harry frowned slightly, a bit put out that the only person he'd been able to fid that agreed with him was sort of done with him, but he wanted to go and try and get Ron to talk this out with him. He knew his ginger haired friend was getting tired of Harry's flip flopping on the git Malfoy, but there had never not been any Slytherins at Hogwarts, while harry had been there anyways. And now there was one seventh year, and then nothing save a few fourth and fifth years, and a more or less complete first second and third year sets, but still.

It made it seem a bit more real, and he didn't know why the idea of fighting his school rivals made him feel sick, but it did. School rivalry might have felt like vivid hate while it was happening, but he wouldn't kill Malfoy or his cronies, and he knew Malfoy and his cronies might pretend they were out for blood but it wasn't as if they were set on murdering him, at the end of the day it was all in good fun. Though that fun might be bloody and crazed, it seemed painful and real now that they had been forced to either go to the man that had just killed their mothers, or flee him. And Harry didn't know which he preferred, much less why he cared.


	18. Tired of playing nice, yet?

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, I merely play.

Authors note: Ok guys, I was flip flopping on wether to post this chapter, but what the heck. Later on Ginny is actually a character, and so I thought I'd try to flesh it out. She's stuck between her childhood crush and idyllically raised in the wizarding world that harry potter is a big deal, but also she's got that Weasley pig headedness thats gotta show itself sooner or later?

* * *

Ginny knew she was primarily a bystander. She tried to get Harry to notice her, being as bright and funny as she could, but all of this war of the worlds was not helping her cause to get her hero to notice her. She knew it was cliché, but since Harry had saved her from the chamber of secrets, she felt like every boy she dated was put under the spotlight (ok only 2 boys, but still) and scrutinized by her subconscious, and they never measured up to Harry.

He was tan, in a light golden way that was odd for British boys. His floppy black hair was never combed, but it made him look boyish, and sweet, even when his eyes were flashing angrily. And all that quidditch made for a toned body, not that Ginny had ever looked, because according to her mother she was way to young for that kind of thing.

But still. She did try to move on, Hermione said that mooning over him would never get his attention, and so she focused on the boys in her grade, on making friends, and trying to be popular, like Cho.

She buttered her toast, trying to flip her hair just so, so it would catch the light, and while that did indeed work, she also ended up getting butter in her hair. Harry was reading that paper over Ron's shoulder, so of course he didn't noticed her hair catching the light or anything, but at least he didn't see her get butter in her hair.

Romilda snickered, and handed Ginny a napkin, but to Ginny's satisfaction, Jack Sloper's eyes had followed her hair, and he politely averted his eyes while she smeared the butter out of her hair.

"Where d'you think Dumbledore is?" Demelza was spacing out, at the head table. She had a habit of spacing out and staring when she was thinking, and so Dem ended up noticing a lot of things.

Ginny frowned and looked up at the head table. Snape was also gone, but no one would miss that, now would they? Not now that the Slytherin table was sparsely populated, anyways. Good riddance too, Ginny's mum had told her that there wasn't an evil wizard alive that wasn't in Slytherin.

"Probably meeting with school governors or something?" It was a long shot, but Ginny couldn't really think of anywhere the Head of School might be. Old men need breakfast too, after all.

"He's been gone for almost a week now, though."

"Really?" Ginny frowned, trying to remember if she'd seen him in a week. Demelza was right, his seat had been empty. She glanced at Harry, wondering if he knew what was happening. He probably did, the staff trusted him with everything, they could see how good he was too.

Victoria rolled her eyes, used to Ginny mooning and Dem staring all through breakfast. "Come on, let's make sure we don't have to sit in the back of transfiguration."

And with that, Victoria herded her friends out of the dining hall, leaving Romilda to moon at Harry all on her own.

* * *

That evening at dinner, Ginny was delighted when Ron plopped down on the bench next to her. It meant that Harry and Hermione sat across from them. Ginny told her best centaur joke, and it made Ron nearly snort pumpkin juice out of his nose, and Harry gave her a bright, happy smile that made her heart melt.

Across the table, using Hermione to stay out of Harry's sight line, Victoria pretended to swoon, while Dem and Jack laughed, and Ginny shot them her best dirty look.

It was right at this moment that a very grim looking Professor McGonagall stood up. "My children, it is my utmost regret to inform you, that our head of school has gone missing. For almost a week his absence has been something the staff has been trying to investigate, but we cannot locate him, and all attempts at communication have been unsuccessful."

Ginny turned, her shocked eyes meeting with Demelza's and then to Harry. Harry's bright eyes looked suddenly stormy, his expression set, his handsome jawline strong, as it always did in the face of trouble. Hermione looked pale and drawn, her lips pursed nervously. Ginny turned to her older brother, hoping to find comfort in his usually easy going happy face, but he looked pale under his freckles, and his brow was furrowed, his eyes meeting Harry's squarely.

She knew that look. They would go be up to something, and Mum would be beside herself with worry, and Da would get protective of her, and Ginny would be left behind again, as usual. And it happened all the time, and she hated it. Why did she always have to be left behind?


	19. Ashes to Ashes

Disclaimer: I own... you guessed it. Nothing.

Warnings: possibly some emotions? And there's cursing (I think).

Authors note: And we're back to slytherin territory, where I am more comfortable. Thanks for the praise and comments you guys, it warms my small, shriveled heart. Ho ho! I have just written an action sequence, followed by what could be interpreted as an almost H/D moment. Well they're both there, but it's not exactly a moment? Who knows. Sometimes I think I like a good suspenseful romance, and so I am probably taking it out on you, the poor reader. Enjoy! Comments, reviews, support, or criticism are all appreciated!

* * *

"Draco, Draco, wake up, they're coming," Hissed Blaise, shaking Draco awake. Draco sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and trying to focus on his friends face, drawn and panicked.

"What? Who?" His voice was low and thick with sleep, and he rubbed his face, his own silvery stubble scratching at him.

"I don't know, Yaxley, some others they have their masks on. They know it was you that bit them back there, we have to get out of here."

Draco let out a string of curses and sprung to his feet. "What the hell are we going to do?"

"There's too many of them to run, Draco, we need to apparate, or use the portkey."

"No. We can't, we don't know if the target location is safe right now, Blaise."

"Well we sure as hell know the current location isn't safe, Draco, we have to, they're everywhere, and they're tracking us, and they don't seem happy. We have to keep them safe."

Draco turned, and looked at the curled bodies of his Slytherins. He sighed, glaring at Blaise. He had known telling Blaise about the emergency portkey his parents always made him wear was a mistake. Draco pulled out his small pocketknife, stolen from a store in a muggle town a few days ago.

They moved through the group shaking everyone awake, motioning for silence. The sleep addled teenagers all huddled together, as Blaise hissed instructions for everyone to hang on to one another, linking hands or elbows, and clutching. Then, Greg, Vince, Blaise, and Liam, all held on to Draco, as hard as they could. Draco pricked his finger, and pressed his bloody fingertip to the center of his cygnet ring, closing his eyes as the emergency portkey activated, tasting Black blood on it, activated the old blood magic.

All the past week, they'd had Death Eaters on their tails, though they had no idea why the Dark Lord was interested in a small group of teenagers when there were surely more powerful wizards out there to snatch. They had managed to nick enough muggle clothes to pass as muggles, and Liam had found a muggle bill fold, and they'd managed to buy some real muggle food, though it tasted odd and was kept in paper boxes and the like. But they'd been spotted, and for the past two days, there had been death eaters hot on their tails. They'd been running on nearly no sleep, since it was nearly the end of November, and there was snow on the ground, but they couldn't light a fire they might be seen. So frigid, and huddled, they had tried to sleep in small intervals, but they had to keep moving, and they couldn't stop for food.

The spinning of the Portkey shuddered to a halt and they stumbled to the ground, Draco and Blaise drawing their wands instinctively. They were in a dark, stone room, thick, dust in the air. But the air did taste of thrumming wards and magic, something that they'd come to miss in the past month as they'd trekked through muggle Scotland, trying to avoid wizards or witches, who might recognize them.

Blaise motioned to rest of the group to hang back, nodding to Liam, in a silent agreement, that he was in charge of protecting the group. Draco glanced at Blaise, and nodded, silently communicating, and they both closed their eyes, shifting and moving forwards, nosing the thick wooden door open.

Draco sniffed, his sensitive nose taking in the scent of thick, musty dust. It smelled like burned wood, and a little like mold, but he didn't smell much life. He eased himself forwards, trying to hold most of his weight back, over on his haunches. He found that if he held his weight back he could prowl almost soundlessly, keeping his belly low, brushing against the cold stone floor.

Draco tried to keep himself from making a sound as they rounded the corner, where the staircase down to the main ballroom should be, but instead, they just found fire charred stone, burnt wooden support beams, melted and burnt dry wall, the skeleton of the house exposed. Through the holes and charred remnants in the wall, the thick fog and mist over the moors of Wiltshire were visible.

Blaise stopped next to Draco, his shoulder bracing against Draco's in a canine sign of support, his lowered head and lax tail non-threatening.

Draco turned from the burnt wood scaffolding where there used to be large stairs, and changed paths, moving down along a corridor that moved away from main ballroom, around to the west wing of the manor. Blaise moved behind him, their paws moving soundlessly on the firm stone floors.

They found an unburnt staircase in the library, and Draco did more than just a cursory sweep, looking in all of the rooms he'd loved playing in as a child. Blaise just moved silently and submissively behind him, nose and ears on alert.

The damage to his child hood home was something that made his very bones ache. His room was untouched, but he didn't spend more than a moment in there, not wanting to see the pictures of his mother that were on the bureau.

The kitchen was for the most part untouched, same with the dining hall, but the drawing room was basically missing. His father's suite had been burnt beyond recognition, though a portion of his study remained. His mother's wing was gone, and Draco tried not to dwell on the crumbling tower that once housed his bright and sophisticated, and alive mother.

Draco padded back towards the library, not bothering to care about the paw prints left on the once white marble of the entrance hall. To the side of the library, above the kitchens, which had been mostly underground, since house elves didn't mind the lack of sunlight, but to the side of the library there was an old parlor that Draco used to have lessons in when he was smaller, also untouched by the flames. Draco glanced around, but there weren't any portraits on this hall, it was mainly a servants hall. He shifted into his human form, straightening his rumpled muggle clothes while he waited for Blaise to shift as well.

"Let's bring them here. Father didn't like coming here, he had his own study, and he didn't like me as a child. Plus there aren't any portraits in the library. We can move one of the shelves or tapestry's to cover the door and stay here for tonight."

Blaise nodded, following Draco into the library, helping his friend move the large tapestry that hung between two large windows to hang over the door to the parlor. Draco turned, still a human, running up the stairs, and walking down the hall, shoulders squared, and wand drawn.

"Incendio. Incendio. Incendio." He muttered, lighting every portrait he passed on fire. Blaise grabbed at Draco's arm, but Draco kept firing off spells, until every portrait visible form where they stood was scorched.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"The trace can't detect underaged magic in ancestral homes. It would be too much for them to keep track of, and there's not statute of secrecy in an ancestral wizarding home."

"No, why are you setting all your ancestors on fire?"

"You act as if they're alive. They could see the others, who knows where other portraits of them are. We have to be sure." Draco knew his face and tone were stony, and his friend twisted his mouth, but in the end bit his lip, and drew his wand, joining Draco, lighting up anything that could've had eyes as they made their way back to the others.


	20. Free me from my cage

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.

Authors note: Here's another Harry chapter! Woohoo. So Tonk's has always seemed like a rash, and faithful kind of person, so that why what goes down goes down. Your comments are very appreciated I'm in the middle of writing BIG EVENT 1, like the pig plot event that goes down, and its exciting, be excited. Enjoy!

* * *

Harry paced, agitated, along the worn and creaking floors of Grimmuald Place. He knew he was being rash, but he had packed up and left, hoping that Ron and Hermione had the sense to stay behind and leave him alone. He was tired of worrying himself sick that they might get hurt, and now Dumbledore, the only person that Harry had thought was stronger than Voldemort, was gone. No one was safe. And he had to come up with a plan of action. He paced nervously, trying to figure out what his plan of attack would be. The most reasonable answer? Was to actually go back and get Hermione, because she would know what to do, but nothing. He knew that the Order of the Phoenix still met here, and they still met twice a month. So he just had to wait for them, so that he could tell them he was joining, no arguments, and that he was going to fight.

He sighed and turned, deciding on a whim to unpack his trunk. He didn't have anything else to do except wait, and the fidleus charm was still strong enough here that he could be safe. He rummaged through his trunk, and found his latest copy of Quidditch Weekly. As cooped up as he felt, there was nothing to do but wait.

* * *

Two day's later found him laying on the floor of one of the dusty rooms from sheer boredom, trying to figure out what the complex crown molding on the ceiling was supposed to actually be. Fat babies? Mandrakes? Cupids? Garden Gnomes? He squinted at them, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. He sure was helping the war effort here, sprawled, laughing at the ceiling.

"Harry, mate, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but what the hell are you doing?"

The familiar voice startled him, and he sat up, shoving his glasses back up his nose, as they'd slipped, and clambering to his feet. Ron and Hermione were standing in the doorway. Ron looked amused, and Hermione looked annoyed.

"What are you guys doing here? How'd you find me?"

"Honestly, Harry, it wasn't all that hard. Where else would you go? I am disappointed that you thought we couldn't be trusted to come along though." Hermione's mothering tone was familiar, he knew she wasn't that mad, more worried.

"It's not that-"

"That's what I told her mate, I knew you were just being all heroic and what. But still, come on, it took us about ten minutes to figure out where you were, I'm sure if we can you it You Know Who can." Ron came over, giving Harry a friendly slap across the back, and a big smile.

Harry looked at Hermione sheepishly, and she rolled her eyes, but came over and gave him a rib-crushing hug anyhow.

"So what's our plan?" Hermione glared at Ron as he asked, obviously not done being upset that they were missing school.

"Our plan is to get Harry back to Hogwarts! We can't even do magic outside school yet!" She sounded every bit as incredulous as Harry expected from her, and the familiarity of it all made him grin at her, which clearly annoyed her even more.

"Hermione. Come on. We have to save Dumbledore. Then, later, we can go back to school and you can fret about our NEWTs without distraction. But if Dumbledore's gone, don't you think that soon, Hogwarts will fall? Then the ministry? Come on, we have to do something. We're going to wait to see if the Order will help us, and if not, we're going to go get Dumbledore, so he can tell us how to kill Voldemort."

Ron seemed comforted by the fact that there was a plan at all, and Hermione seemed outraged that the plan involved dropping out of school but Harry decided that in the end he was glad that his friends had found him.

* * *

Predictably, the Order was split between people who needed a leader now with Dumbledore gone, and thought the whole Boy Who Lived/Chosen One thing sounded pretty appealing, and people who were in a snit about letting a 16 year old go off and try to find Voldemort on his own (though he argued he would have Hermione and Ron with him, so not alone).

Then of course there was worry because some rogue wizards from the continent were starting up trouble. The Auror department had come in to find the severed heads of two death eater's waiting for them, with a note that looked like it was written in blood about someone doing their jobs for them, and was signed by a single letter C.

Naturally, the ministry suspected either French aurors or maybe German aurors, but according to Mad Eye Moody, there was not magical signature, and so it had to be someone that wouldn't look out of place to sneak up on and manually decapitate the two low ranking death eaters.

And so there were a million reasons that Harry was forced to listen to about how he was being pigheaded and childish, and then about 30 people tried to convince him to go back to school and just twiddle his thumbs and wait for news.

It was all too much, and in the end, the meeting ended with no decisions, and Harry storming out of the meeting, seething and yelling curse words at the appalled and petty adults. He couldn't stand it when people told him to just hold on and not jump in. Didn't they understand? He was the only one who could kill Voldemort, it's not like he could just shrug and let that pass his mind, and go back to school and worry about potions class. The war was upon them and just because no one wanted to admit it, they weren't going to let him try to kill Voldemort.

Wasn't his war indeed. He needed to do something about it, and he needed to do it now. He made up his mind, and started a pile of things to put in his rucksack. He might need Hermione to teach him some kind of shrinking spell to get all this stuff to fit in there, but he thought she'd help, she was his best friend after all.

Ron came in, closing the door, his face slightly troubled.

"Harry. Hogwarts. The Death Eaters took it. I don't care what mum says, I'm coming with you. We've got to get Gin back. I think, I think Hermione is too. She just, you know her, she hates leaving."

Harry paused in his rummaging, and then sat next to his friend. "I know mate. Hogwarts? Is everyone ok?"

"Apparently, they're just keeping it on as a school or what not, I imagine they'll use the kids to try and get everyone on their side like threatening? Maybe? I don't know, I heard a lot of families are starting to go under ground."

Harry nodded, feeling sick to his stomach. He'd barely escaped, and maybe it was just a sinking feeling, but he had a feeling that if he had been in the school when it was taken he would have been killed along with anyone that had stood in the way.

The two boys sat there in silence for a few moments before Hermione slipped in, closing the door silently behind her. She hesitated for a moment then sat next to Harry, leaning his head on his shoulder.

"They aren't going to let you leave. We need to get out of here, and find somewhere else to work out of." Her voice was soft and tired, and she looked older than he remembered ever seeing a 16-year-old look. The toll that just walking out on all their teachers and classmates and futures was taking on her must be overwhelming.

He nodded, and got up, gently moving her off of his shoulder. He went back to his packing, but before long Hermione came over and smacked his hands away. She drew her wand, and pointed it at his rucksack. She began muttering spells, and then began neatly folding things and placing them inside. Ron and Harry watched in slight awe as she picked up his firebolt and tossed it into his bag where it shouldn't have fit.

She blushed when she noticed them staring and rolled her eyes, muttering hotly, "Honestly, does no one but me pay attention in charms?"

It was midnight before they were all packed, and they were trying to figure out a plan of escape, when a knock on the door to the room where Ron had been kipped paused their conversation. Tonks stuck her head in, a small smile on her lips, and then slipped in.

"Harry. Don't talk. I know what you're going to do. I have two things for you though." She held out her hand and whistled softly, and seemingly out of nowhere a little bright golden bird fluttered. Then it landed on her finger, and Hermione gasped. "Tonks, is that a snidget? You could get in huge trouble for having one!"

Tonks smiled crookedly, and shrugged. "This one's been in the family for more than a minute. But lately, he's been bringing me things from someone who might be able to help you. His name is Pip. Pip, this here is Harry, and I think your master wouldn't mind him getting the things you bring me? Ok? He's here to help."

She lifted her hand up when she addressed the small bird, no bigger than a humming bird, as if it understood her. The bird chirped quietly, and flitted over, landing on Ron's knee, preening itself slightly.

"They're magical, and really smart. They can get through almost any ward, and they're too fast to be caught by any ministry spy, and they're very loyal to whoever bred them." Tonk's tone was affectionate, but she held up her hand to stop the questions that Ron and Harry had, the moment they opened their mouths.

"I can't tell you who's on the other end. For one, I don't actually know, all I know is he's been helping me, and he or I guess she, can help you. But more importantly, the second thing, is that I'm about to do something very loud and noisy, so you lot can slip out the front door and apparate away."

With that, she turned around, and slipped back out of the room, before anyone could say anything.

"But. Wait. Get her to come back, Hermione, I can't apparate!" Harry was on his feet in a moment, slightly panicking.

"It's ok Harry. I- I can." Her blush was fiery while the two boys surveyed her in awe.

"Well I didn't want to be surprised when they taught us in the spring! So I practiced, and read up on it, and well, I went to Diagon Alley and I practiced there, where I wouldn't be breaking the trace. Come on, we don't have long."

Ron grinned and shook his head, following her, but not before carefully scooping up the small bird, and letting him hop onto Ron's shoulder. They were halfway down the stairs, carefully peering about making sure no one spotted them when there was a loud explosion and a scream from the kitchen. Harry grabbed his friends and pulled them out the door, across the street into the muggle park, where in the cloak of darkness, Hermione took a deep breath, and they all disappeared with a crack.


	21. Honor Amongst Thieves

Disclaimer: Nada is mine.

Authors note: OKAY, I need your help. I can't decide if this is clever, annoying, confusing, awesome, or really annoying. Its sort of all of the above? Read the chapter, then read the note at the end about the annoying thing. Slash, we're getting to the more exciting bits! Wooo! Almost there! Comments always appreciated, enjoy!

* * *

"Alright my children, we have a cry for help. Tyche, go broadcast our message received signal." The small boy nodded, and slipped out of the main entrance to the Lair, as they affectionately called their room.

"Now, we'll have two teams. Alpha team is yours truly, Deimos, Phobos, and Moros. Beta team will be Oberon, Nyx, Pan, and Nemisis. The rest of you ungrateful heathens will wait here for us, and try to minimize the shock. Cerberus, you're in charge while we're gone, Pallas, you're on guard tonight." The group all nodded.

Draco had never though he would be here, in this position, but little Flora's idea had taken fire, and seeing the place where their mothers had died, and living there had bred an iron like urge for revenge, and eventually Blaise had talked Draco into letting them try to be a guerilla war group. Little Anthony Vaisey, now Tyche, had managed to make a broadcasting device that emitted to be picked up by the wizarding wireless. He and the twins, Hypnos and Nemisis had been coming up with ways to try and communicate, but until today they'd thought no one was listening.

They had nearly been caught once, on their first mission, out trying to find the Dark Lords new lair, and had almost been caught and fed veritaserum. It was this that finally led to the older kids letting Flora excitedly make everyone a pseudonym. They also had their own veritaserum, and had tested it, and if they thought of each other as their code names hard enough, they could name their accomplices only by false name under veritaserum and without hurting themselves, they could manage to withhold the given name, if in their heads the other ones were only their pseudonyms.

The wizarding wireless that was on the mantle crackled to life, and Tyche's voice came across, lower than normal, as he used voice-altering charms when broadcasting. "Listen up, kittens, we've heard your public school cries, get your uniforms ready, private school is coming for you whenever the laugh is heard. Keep your heads down, and shit packed, and try not to get wet under ghost tears. This is Professor Mockingbird, and your homework is 10 inches on why authority is-"

"Turn that thing down before Nyx faints from the curse words our little broadcaster is letting spill forth," Said Pan amiably enough, as he sharpened one of the silver daggers scavenged from the burnt manor.

"So what's the plan then, Da?" Nemisis asked brightly, using the not funny nickname that his friends had assigned to him, something about him worrying like a parent. At least he wasn't Pan, who was lovingly called Ma, Mum, or Mother. She had with her some bread from the kitchen, brown and of questionable edible nature, but that was something they were all used to at this point. Cerberus had taken over trying to cook, using the house elves cook books, but none of them had ever tried this, and so her success, while it was increasing, was somewhat limited in the culinary arts.

"I am not your father, you manner less brat," He responded affectionately, glancing at the large grandfather clock that they had dragged into the Lair. "We'll get going as soon as its dark out, and be there before the moon is out so no one get scared. Then Pan and I will get in, and spring the gates for you lot, and then the two teams will separate. Beta, so you, will go get whoevers waiting for us. We'll take care of the guards."

Nemisis grinned, and went off to get dressed, or give Draco a panic attack, or find her sister, or one of her other standard activities.

So far, they'd found the dark lords new hide out, and managed to kill a few patrols, though they had managed to break in and spoil some of the food, and Pansy, or that is Nyx, had gone and given any house elf she could find clothes, and then of course there had been the whole turn a group of death eaters into a pile of muggle rubbish bags. All in all they were probably more annoying than a real threat, but Nemisis was right, it made Draco feel better, and like he was having a say in what was happening.

Draco stretched, and got to his feet. He knew it wasn't really necessary, but he was going to get dressed in his go-clothes, even though it was a full moon, so he wouldn't be a person for that long. It was cloudy tonight though, so he didn't know exactly when he would transform. He moved through the dark room, to one of the corner where he slept. After the first night, they'd gone and taken every mattress, cushion, pillow, blanket and drape, and set up areas to sleep in. The younger kids slept next door, in what Draco assumed had once been some sort of servant room or something, or maybe a small guest room, but a few days after, they had blasted through the wall to connect the two rooms with a hole about the width and height of a person, since Astoria (Eris) didn't like sleeping unless she could poke her head in and look at Daphne (Hebe), and secretly Hecate felt the same way about Deimos, but he was too busy pretending to be a manly little 14 year old to admit it.

Draco had taken the mattress from his own room, and had also dragged a set of drawers down here, tossing out the suit of armor that had stood in a little niche in his corner, and put his set of drawers in the niche, so that his mattress could guard it, but he could still sleep with his back to the wall. He pulled out his muggle facemask. It was thick and black, and covered ones entire face and head, and all and all was good for their purposes. He slipped on a black jumper that they'd stolen during one of their raids on a muggle shop, and his dark black trousers, the only thing he was wearing save the ratty muggle shirt that was actually his. He flopped back on his bed, and there was a squeak, as Nyx emerged from his covers.

"Err, hello, you are aware this is my bed. Right?" His tone was dry, and he didn't bother getting up, remaining flopped across her legs.

"Yes, but Hebe is snogging Phobos in my bed, and plus, I figured you wouldn't try to cop a feel while I slept. Maidenly virtue and all that."

"I'm ashamed that my reputation is not the tarnisher of young girls reputations."

"Oh, I don't think it's the young girls that need worry," She said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively and kicking at him from under his covers. He rolled his eyes, fluttering a hand dismissively at her, and shifted off her legs, to lie on a bit of unoccupied bedding.

As it turned out, without house elves, the group of once spoiled Slytherins were a bit messy, perhaps even slobs. Draco had been under the impression beds sort of made themselves because they liked looking nice or something, but his never obliged and merely remained rumpled day after day.

"Hey! Bossman! I think I've got it!" Oberon came bounding over, his blonde hair a bit wild. Draco sighed and sat up a bit, tilting his head at his longtime friend.

"Alright then, pretender, lets see your best shot."

Oberon grinned and closed his eyes breathing slowly. He'd been after Pan and Draco to teach him how to be an animagus, and while Draco had just laughed, Pan had caved because he was overly nice like that. He took a deep breath and mumbled the mantra, pointing his wand at himself. He winced as he slowly began to shrink, and sprout fur before his transformation picked up speed. Once he was done, Draco burst out laughing.

"Pan, Pan, look. Your star pupil, as it would turn out, if the actual ferret here." Nyx poked her head back out from under the covers and surveyed the small weasel like animal before joining Draco in laughter.

"Don't be rude now, he's obviously a pine marten. Uneducated plebeians," said Pan, calling over from where he was still seated, by the fire. His good-natured grin was visible even through he shadows.

"Fret not, my children, the mighty Oberon will protect yo- Ow." Draco sat up, nursing the bite on his hand. "Merlin, you do not take jokes well. Very useful, having a nice small animagus in the family, good for sneaking, stop biting me."

When Oberon ignored him, baring his teeth again, Draco narrowed his eyes and shifted, snapping his large hyena jaws at the odd smelling little rodent, who squealed, and leaped, slithering almost as it moved away, before Theo reappeared, sprawled on the floor.

Draco pounced up onto the couch, showing off by gracefully transforming mid jump and managing to swing himself into a seated position on the couch, smiling smugly at Theo- that is to say Oberon's sprawled form. He might be an unshaved, under fed refugee, but at least he still had his style, right?

* * *

Authors note: Ok, the code names, I thought were a cool way to get around some issues with guerilla war tactics. It allows them to get their way around veritaserum a little more, and it also lets them talk amongst themselves in front of other people (well not now, now there isn't anyone else there to talk in front of, but the time will come!). I also feel like it helps them step out of who they are, you know? Like without having to worry about their family name and all that family garbage I'm sure Lucius has been shoving down Draco's throat all his life. Also if they needed to call to each other, or write to each other they would be able to remain anonymous.

So, the question is, is it super annoying? To remember who is who and have to figure it out? Or is it fun? I originally had the characters name in parentheses next to all the code names for the readers reference, but then I posted this version instead, because that one looked sort of annoying to me. Or, I could start posting the list (I have a list) of what name is whose up top, next to the disclaimer and all that.

But having to think so hard feels like hard work for the reader? Thoughts? I'm torn in about 600 ways over this! PM's, Reviews, anything, I'm stumped on how to handle it, and I'm hesitant to just erase the whole lot of it, because I sort of like how Marauder with a Slytherin twist it is.

For initial reference, at least:

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos


	22. Fight For The Living

Disclaimer: Nothing is for me, nothing is mine.

Authors note: No really, guys, I don't know if I like the code name thing. Ok well I do in fact I might love it, but I don't know how to handle writing with it. Parentheses? Real names in the parentheses? Initials in the parentheses? A list at the beginning? Only code names in speech? Gaaah! Comments, criticisms, thoughts, edits, and solutions to this conundrum are more than welcome!

Disclaimer: This is a long one, with probably some cursing, and some dramatic writers flair. Bah, I've been caught, I love theatrics.

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

* * *

A week later, and the Lair was busy adjusting to its forcible expansion. They'd blasted their way into the old servants quarters, and holed up their refugees in there. They'd also left their calling cards, on murdered and wounded Death Eaters, and in raided kitchens and raided stock rooms.

They'd ended up with a large fight on their hands, and they'd come away with almost 30 students.

They'd made up 4 servant rooms and put them up by house, to minimize bickering. There was an unspoken agreement between the original 17 Slytherins; their masks were on pretty much permanently, except when they warded their lairs shut, or when they were locked in the bathrooms.

Mostly, they had Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, but they did have 6 Gryffindors. They'd had to fight their way out a bit, and so there had been an emergency potion making need, and they'd set up in a corner of Millie's kitchen.

There were a few of them working at the potions, Draco had offered to teach anyone who wanted to learn, though the split personality was starting to make him feel actually split. Chaos, leader of the small unofficial, but bloodthirsty rebellion could be brusquely kind to nearly anyone, but Draco Malfoy sneered at the thought of teaching Hufflepuffs how to make potions.

They were also preparing for the inevitable, which was the decision whether to risk going back for the remainder of the students in the castle, or cut their losses. There were only about 40 or so students left that were deemed worth taking; deemed as per their questioning of their newest house guests, and they could probably hide them in the empty, burnt manor without much effort, but Draco himself had helped drag the bodies of the 7 death eater guards they could find in the great hall, lain across the ancient flagstones. He doubted Voldemort, or the Ministry was very amused at them right now, and if they had any sense they would have increased the guard at the school. One side would torture and kill them, the other would send them to Azkaban or kill them. So best to lay low, as for some reason, not everyone understood why Draco and his pack might be out for blood.

They'd need more people this time, but Draco refused to put anyone younger than himself on the kill team, and so they would either need to find some other of their older classmates and hope the would deflect, or they needed to let their abductees in on the plan, and train them, and hope they would help.

He sighed; leaning back, and moving into the hall between the houses make shift dormitories.

"Hey. School meeting, children."

A few head poked out, and before long, with Pan and Pallas at his back, he stood before the tired, bruised faces of the children they'd help escape.

"This may not come as a surprise, but we are all of us, your classmates. Or we were, earlier this year. We have since obviously run off, and now that we've dragged you lot with us; we have a choice for you. You have three options. The first, is be smuggled to the continent, to run, but then you'll be on your own, and you'll have to be obliviated to forget who helped you. The second is to remain here, but not be brought in on any of the mischievous shenanigans we have been getting up to. If you select this option, you may not communicate with anyone, and you may continue your school, but you may not ask for anyone's identity, for the location in which you reside, or for the privilege of contacting anyone on the outside. The last is to join our fight and our ranks. If you chose this one, know this. We are not a children's playgroup, we kill and steal, and we are not afraid of Voldemort, or of the ministry. To join us, you cannot fear consequence, you have to live in the moment, and you cannot stay hung up in the past. Many of you were not our friends, when we were school children, but this war has caused us to grow up before we are ready, and so to join us you must leave the past and the future out of your thoughts. You will receive your mask and name, and you must leave your old self behind, like we have."

He spoke quietly, and he saw, as some of them huddled closer together when he mentioned killing, but he gritted his teeth, now was not the time to go soft.

"When your decision is made, come find us, I'm Chaos, and this is Pan. We're the headmasters at this private institution for children and sinners. Inform us what you would like, we will pass no judgment, but know that we will not tolerate rats." He turned, and walked from the hall, letting the drapery they'd hung to separate the newcomers from the old lair swirl shut dramatically.

"Very dramatic, Honey," jibed Pan, flicking his wand at the tapestry before pulling off his mask.

"Oh shut it, woman," Draco responded, smiling under his mask, and sitting at the kitchen table. Pan perched on the table, and before long Nyx and the ever-insufferable Nemisis padded in from where they had been undoubtedly working on curses with some of the other originals.

"Did he deliver a speech that would've made Snape cry?" asked Nyx brightly, sitting next to Draco, singing her arm around him.

"Oh, it was most mysterious. He did offer the option for them to join us though."

"Ooooh, ickle Chaos, suddenly the chaperone for interhouse cooperation? Who'd have thought it?" cooed Nemisis, sitting on a counter top, her short legs swaying.

"Here at the Private School For the Young And Evil, we do not have houses. We are one large, and terrible family. Shame on you children for implying I segregate the children based on traits they exhibit at young ages."

Draco grinned, shoving at Nyx, but keeping his arm around her, if only to try and drag her from her seat and onto the ground.

They scuffled playfully while Nemisis interrogated Pan brightly about the possibilities of their growing revolution. No one else thought of it as a revolution, but who was Draco to crush the dreams of a small girl?

A quiet knock on the tapestry, and they all froze, pulling their masks back on, and Nemisis hopped off her perch on the countertop and went, checking to make sure everyone's faces were covered before she pulled back the tapestry. There stood a small group, well, maybe half of the children they'd rescued actually, nervous pale faces lit up by the kitchens hearth.

Draco nodded, standing, and gesturing to the long, crude kitchen table, with its low benches, inviting them to sit. He nodded to Nyx who got up, and quietly went to go find someone to help her steal some more masks from Wiltshire's unsuspecting muggle population. Nemisis was clearly beside herself with glee at all the codenames she got to invent. Het obvious penchant for Greek mythology was transparent, and while she just like some of the names, some were veiled references.

Draco produced a piece of paper and a self-inking quill. "Write your name, and Nemisis here, will write your code names. Memorize them, love them, and do your best to forget your old names and old selves. Once your trainings through, it'll be safe to stay unmasked amongst us, and us amongst you, but until then let's try our best not to know one another."

Eighteen of them, not bad, this brought their numbers up to 36, which actually, was a more than decent number.

"So from now on, you are each others families. You will eat and sleep together, and practice with us. It's sort of like school, sometimes we work on magic, sometimes potions, sometimes we try to figure out the muggle world, and muggle fighting. What I said before counts more than anything. If you hated each other at Hogwarts, tough luck, you've all just become brothers and sisters, so now you can only dislike someone as much as you'd dislike a beloved sibling. So feel free to hate things about your new family, but we're all each others got."

He rolled his eyes as Nemisis snatched up the list, and delightedly slipped off to the library to look up more mythological code names, no doubt. He leaned back on wall and looked them over. Not exactly who he would have chalked up as his friends while he was in school, but he felt a weird twinge of pride. They were choosing him. Ha. Take that Lord Voldemort.

* * *

Read, review, and submit your opinion on what I should do! Hooray, thank you in advance! ^.^


	23. Directionless 'til now

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Authors note:This is another Gryffindor chapter! Woohoo. That's all I'm prepared to say, but I'm also absurdly hungry while typing this so I have to go eat my weight in cheese-itz. Enjoy! Read! Review!

* * *

Harry sighed, scribbling his message, and finally whistling for Tonk's little bird. Things were not going well, they couldn't find Dumbledore, but they had figured out how Voldemort had stayed alive. There were these weird magic things that Hermione had explained were like little soul holders, and they'd been able to work out that the diary that Harry had stabbed had been one, and that Dumbledore knew what was going on, and had been working on it when he had been taken. But now they needed dragon fire, basilisk venom, and one of these weird little soul holders. But presumably Dumbledore knew where they were, and the man was missing.

Harry finally caved; after they found out that there were only about one third the students there had been at the beginning of the year left at Hogwarts. Ginny and some others were missing, some presumably taken into hiding with their families, some lured to work for Voldemort.

_I need Dumbledore, I heard you could help._

He scrawled, pausing for a moment, before handing the note to the Snidget, who had buzzed in from nowhere. They were at a ramshackle little cottage they'd found on the cliffs along the ocean, and they were making no leads. Harry leaned back, hoping whoever was on the receiving end was as useful as Tonks had said.

An hour or two later, a little golden bussing bird flitted into Harry's window, dropping a scrap of parchment near him, before perching on Hedwig's perch, nibbling at a mouse the snowy owl had left in her cage.

_Don't know where the old man is, but I'll keep an eye out. Who are you?_

The plain script was unhelpful, not any kind of familiar handwriting Harry had been hoping for. He thought for a minute, chewing on his lip, and then inked his response on the back of the other person's parchment.

_Ill tell you mine if you tell me yours. Do you know where Voldemort is?_

He sighed, and got up, coaxing the small, gold Pip out of Hedwig's cage, and handing him the small parchment. He wandered downstairs, to where Hermione was obsessively reading, and Ron was trying to get her to eat. He sat down quietly, and picked up a book, sighing. His brain might melt out of his head, but he would figure this out.

As the sun was setting, Pip zipped into the room, dropping a small roll of parchment into Harry's lap before zooming off, obviously hoping to scavenge some more dead mouse off of Hedwig's perch.

Harry picked up the scroll, there were two pieces of parchment, one a sheet, the other a scrap. He read the scrap first.

_Hah. Nice try, Seeker. To answer your question: Yes._

_-C_

The other was a vague map, but there was a V drawn in red on one of the buildings.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione sounded curious, Harry's relieved expression obviously wrenching her from her research in how to locate a horcrux. Finally, they had a lead. He grinned, and shoved the map at her.

"And V is for…?"

"Yeah." He couldn't help but grin. Hah.

"Who sent this to you, Harry?" The concern in Hermione's voice shouldn't have annoyed him as much as it did. Didn't she ever just trust him? He'd come this far couldn't they just all agree that his gut feelings had to be more than luck or something? He sighed, and bit back any impatient snaps that tried to worm their way out.

"Who ever is on the other end of Tonk's Snidget?"

"You sent Pip off? I thought we agreed I was in charge of him!" Before either of them could placate him, a concerned and scowling Ron disappeared to check on his small golden charge. It was true that Pip was quite taken with Ron, that is seemed to like him while he seemed ambivalent on Harry, and a bit distrustful of Hermione.

He handed Hermione the note, and she frowned. "Who ever it is knows who you are Harry, that you're a seeker, or the youngest seeker in a century, or that you're seeking Dumbledore. How do they know?"

"Maybe they know my handwriting?"

Hermione sighed, but then smiled wearily. "Well at least now we can go help poor Professor Dumbledore."

Harry smiled, and sat down next to her, leaning against her happily, in relief. A lead. Somewhere to go. At last.


	24. Playing Together To Stay Together

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Warning: Alcohol, consumption of alcohol by minors, some stealing, some cursing, some drunken behavior, some implications. Oh also, a writer who loves comic relief even when writing an adventure fic!

Authors note: This chapter makes me smile, because while yeah these are kids, refugees, in a war, they are above all still kids. They aren't the order of the Phoenix they're just kids holding on to each other, and I feel like moments like this is them trying to hang onto their childhoods and innocences and blah blah blah literary blah. It makes me happy, I hope it makes you happy too! Because in a minute, we've got to get down to business (to defeat the hun).

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other (I know, I'm an awful lazy author, oh whelp) - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

* * *

"Ahem, shall I continue?" Draco was standing atop the kitchen counter, while Hypnos and newly baptized Selene held down a struggling and laughing also newly baptized, Tartarus.

"Oh, my ginger haired love, how I perish for you. My thoughts dwell on your freckles, they are many, and they glow like my love. You are my dove, though a bit short, and not as Asian and delightful as I might like, not like Cho the Ho-"

Draco cackled maniacally, and danced out of Tartarus's grasp, storing the note his pocket before he leaped down and bolted into the library, where an annoyed Perses surveyed him as well as the excitable ginger haired Gryffindor that tore in after him.

Pan looked up from where he was trying to talk a small group of people through the steps to becoming an animagus. "Now now, lets not set bad examples for the children, Chaos, darling."

Draco rolled his eyes, plopping to the floor, keeping an eye on Tart, who was edging towards him, a determined look on her face. Training was coming along well, even Draco was able to stop calling them things like Huffle and Puffle and She Weasel and move past it, and now, two weeks almost later, they were actually some kind of weird family, and Draco had decided that not only were these people he'd deemed below him not awful, but occasionally useful.

He smacked her hand playfully, and scooted, man handling an amused Charon between them. The amused Hufflepuffs just rolled his eyes, allowing himself to be dragged across the thick library carpeting to be placed between Draco and Tart.

* * *

"I do not think this is a good idea. Let the record reflect that," whined Leto, giving the group getting ready to go out a withering look. She was like that, poor Ravenclaw, used to following the rules, living such a sheltered life, but they were trying to break their new recruits of nasty habits like that.

"Come on Man-" Pontus began, but everyone hissed collectively, and he rolled his eyes and corrected himself, "Sorry, sorry, Leto. Come on Leto don't you want to see these pureblood's and sheltered folk be exposed to the grandiosity that is the muggle restaurant? Soda? Pizza?"

"Boss, we've been infiltrated by the dreaded muggleborn, and it's speaking in tongues," Styx stage whispered, giving Pan and Draco a falsely terrified look. There was the ongoing poking fun at their complete bafflement at the muggle world, and some of the new comers, once they'd gotten over their snits, had decided it was hilarious.

"Yes yes, we will go eat your odd muggle beverages and unusual foods, and in return you will show us how to get alcohol from the muggle, since their stores tend to scream when we sneak in." Nyx sauntered out, wearing a stolen too small muggle shirt.

"Circe's tits, woman, put on some clothes, think of the children." Pan gasped, dramatically covering little Tyche's eyes, dramatically spinning the boy so he couldn't see Nyx's mid drift.

She rolled her eyes good naturedly, and bounced on the balls of her feet slightly. "Come on, mister hilarious, let's go get our muggle on."

"We are in the middle of a war, woman, we don't have time to prance about in the muggle world for the amusement factor, this is a recognizance mission." Nyx flipped her hand flippantly at Draco as he tried to use his best admonishing tone.

Styx and Pontus gleefully led the way as the group of 20 or so witches and wizards followed them down and out the manors gates, dressed in their best impression of muggles.

* * *

"This potion is the nectar of the gods, go fetch me more, Pontus, this instance," Draco gestured wildly to the small back box like machine that when the proper amount of knobs and buttons were pressed yielded a bubbly brown odd tasting potion that had so much sugar that it made his teeth feel like they were singing.

The food was odd, cheese thrown atop odd cardboard like bread with grease dribbled on it, but it was warm food, and in the past 3 months, Draco's standards for what he would eat had plummeted to include anything he could find.

Pontus snorted, but delivered the refilled cup of soda. Draco sipped, the bubbles making him feel light headed, and like everything was wonderful. Nyx rolled her eyes at him, pulling cheese off with her fingers, her nose wrinkling at the grease, but she ate the cheese none the less.

"Hey, da, how are we going to pay for this?" Chronos tipped his seat back as he asked, trying to balance on the hind legs of his chair.

"Err, probably we will work something out, Pontus, master of the muggle, what's the plan?" Draco was feeling like he'd had about 10 cups of coffee and he was feeling giddy.

The muggleborn Ravenclaw shrugged, and considered for a moment. "Well, lets just transfigure some galleons into muggle money, right? Seems reasonable enough."

"Isn't that cheating the system?"

"Bah! Where is your sense of adventure, tangerine of my heart?" Draco flipped his hand at the typically scandalized Gryffindor. They were an odd lot, with morals beaten into them, the poor souls.

* * *

Several hours later found them, well not all of them, just the older kids, in the entrance hall, nursing the alcohol that they had bought with fake muggle money. Pontus (who Draco was respectfully referring to as Poncy) had bought him a large jug of his caffeinated gods beverage, and mixed it with alcohol, to create a delicious and bubbly drink that Draco wanted to replace his blood with.

"Chaos, d'you remember the summer we raided your fathers liquor cabinet? We should recreate that evening."

"Why Pan, you scandalous wood nymph you, I rather like the idea. Lets go on a mission. A mission filled glor- I mean, glory filled glory? No. A… glory filled mission. That it. On to glory my children!" Draco drunkenly raised his goblet (nicked from the formal dining room) and seized Pan's arm, charging for the spirit cellar.

Draco nearly tumbled down the stairs, his mind feeling halted and odd, and fuzzy. He grinned muzzily, and tried to jump, but instead mostly tumbled down the stairs, skidding on his knees and rear end. It was only when he reached the bottom, that he saw that his drink was spilt.

"Oh, Blaise, it's all gone, the nectar of the gods, its gooonnee…"

Pan rolled his eyes, and pulled Draco to his feet, shepherding him along down the hall. They somehow ended up in the spirit cellar, and Draco didn't remember how they got there, at all, even a bit.


	25. A Musing Perspective

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.

Authors note: I like this chapter, I like Pansy. It's short and sweet. Also, no list needed for this one (I think, comment if you guys do need one its an easy fix)! Thanks!

Warning: Implications of homosexuality (but if that alarms you, you may want to stop reading since my intention is to more than imply in later chapters), and drunkenness, and awkward teenage dynamics.

* * *

Pansy grabbed at Theo's arm, staggering a bit as she dragged both him and Daphne along, in search of Blaise and Draco, who had disappeared some time ago. She was not as drunk as the rest of them, and was a little worried that they were dying of alcohol poisoning somewhere in this frigid, decrepit, run down manor.

She made her way through the old dining room, down the servants hall, and down the stairs towards the cellars. There was a suspicious puddle, though at least not vomit, at the bottom of the stairs, and a drunken giggle sounded from the liquor cellar.

"Chaos? Are mommy and daddy having a moment?" She asked mockingly, shoving Theo and Daphne through the door, depositing against the wall and smiling as she saw her friends. Blaise looked a little flushed, and Draco was laying on the floor, clothes twisted about. She arched an eyebrow at Blaise, who didn't look at her, and seemed suspiciously focused on not meeting her gaze for a drunk person.

Theo crawled over and tried to snag Draco's bottle of sherry, and Draco rolled away, curling protectively around his bottle. Theo flopped, flailing an arm over Draco's body, whining. Daphne laughed, not as drunk as the two boys, and threw her empty goblet at Theo, frowning at him for a moment before giggling again.

"Come on, mother dearest, lets get these back to bed, and leave the alcohol behind before anybody dies?" She knew her voice was a bit more severe than it needed to be, but her and Blaise had a prickly, though die hard friendship with a harsh, Draco-centric dynamic.

Blaise rolled his eyes at her over protective snarky-ness, but leaned down. He threw Draco over his shoulder, and Draco let himself be manhandled, though he did cling to his sherry. Blaise then, with his free hand, hauled Theo to his feet, and helped him along, leaving Pansy to herd Daphne along back towards the lairs, calmly disentangling her friends fingers from the bottles she tried to snag.

Pansy sighed, and once they were back to the lair, nudged Blaise, jerking her head back towards the main entrance. They had to get the others out of sight, but she hadn't seen Blaise and Draco so genuinely happy and relaxed since they'd run from Hogwarts, so she had allowed this to get way out of hand. What if the death eaters showed up? Not everyone had the dedication to the cause Draco had, for example, she couldn't do it, couldn't just up and refer to her friends her lifetime friends as new code names, she couldn't let go.

And also, Draco and Blaise had a lot of blood on their hands, and sometimes she would worry herself sick about the revenge that might be taken on them from either side.

They herded the drunken band of rogue students down though getting them into the right beds was anyone's guess. Some of them had built up bunks over other beds in the original lairs, some had just crammed more mattresses in, and two Gryffindors had even set up odd hammocks made out of priceless tapestries. There was no way she and Blaise could get Finnegan and Thomas into their hammocks, or figure out who lived where, so they mostly just piled them on whatever mattress space was available. Pansy curled up between Millie and Daphne, forgetting to check on Draco.


	26. A Call for Help

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Authors note: Uh oh, we're getting close to the cut off where I'm still writing and editing! That also means we're getting close to slash and exciting things of that nature.

Warning: Errr, cursing, some exuberant fourth years, and that is it I think.

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

* * *

Draco woke up, and his head was pounding, and his mouth was dry, and all he could think about was how if felt like all his joints were filled with sand instead of anything useful. He groaned, and rolled over, burrowing under his pillow. He heard a small snort, and someone poked him.

He raised his head, and cracked one eye, to see Bla-Pan tugging at the blankets, trying to get some back.

"Get your own bed," he croaked, cocooning himself and giving Pan the best one eyed glare he could.

"First off, there are Gryffindors in my bed. Second, wake up, your weird little bird is here and biting anyone who tries to pick it up."

Draco whined, but allowed his pillow to be pulled off his head, and he sat up, after great effort. He whistled, though the effort of whistling through chapped lips nearly killed him, he felt. The small zooming bird darted in, too bright in the dark, warm room. He opened his palm, and the little animal dropped its note, then settled on Draco's shoulder to groom him.

_Need a distraction at the place you indicated. Sundown? _

Draco sighed, and looked up at Blaise, who rolled his eyes, and rummaged around on one of the desks that had been converted into a table/shelf. Blai-Pan handed him the rather shabby quill, and Draco responded, in what he felt was a typical response one might expect from him.

Then, Draco handed off his note, scribbled on the back of the delivered note, and burrowed back under his covers. Pan rolled his eyes, and crouched next to Draco, poking him. Draco whined, and wiggled further under the covers.

"Chaaaaoooossss."

"Sweet Merlin woman, go back to sleep, some of us drank more alcohol than should have been allowed."

"I told you, there are Gryffindors in my bed," Pan intoned, in an uncharacteristically whiny tone of voice. He shoved Draco over and settled down in the warm spot, tugging on the blankets that Draco had wrapped around him, cocoon style. Draco sighed, and allowed a small amount of covers to be sequestered away from him. Pan got funny about this sort of thing, when he'd had any alcohol he was suddenly a whiny, cuddly Hufflepuff with whoever happened to be about. Draco rolled his eyes, but let his bizarre friend edge his way onto his pillow and wriggle under Draco's blanket. Draco grumbled, and rearranged himself, but drifted back into sleep.

* * *

"Dad Dad dad dad dad dad, WAKE UP, see what I did!" Draco felt himself cruelly rattled awake by a pounce. He kicked, and tried to roll away from whatever sugar addled fool was bothering him, but he barreled into Pan's enormous, hulking sleeping form, blocking all exits.

Draco took a deep breath and sat up, narrowing his eyes at the tiny and bouncing blonde boy. "Good lord, Hec, go and fetch me my juice of the muggle gods, or coffee, or anything with caffeine, but if you try and bring me tea so help me Merlin, I will murder you." The small boy bounded off, his absurd amounts of energy vibrating along after him. Draco blinked blearily, and shoved Pan awake rudely.

"Get up. Get up get up get up. I'm up, go invade Oberon's bed, or Nike, or someone else who isn't me."

Pan groaned, eyes still shut, and curled away from Draco's shove. Draco kicked and pushed, although he knew it was childish, he liked other people to be awake once he was awake. He pushed and rolled until Pan was sprawled on the floor, then Draco dragged his pillow out of the half asleep boys grasp and yanked his blanket off of him, before settling back on his mattress, greeting tiny Hec with outstretched hands, grabbing at the mug of coffee, happily drinking it down. Hecate bounced impatiently at the edge of his bed, eyes bright and wild, from the poor lads over exposure to Nemisis's particular brand of insanity.

Draco finished his coffee in moments, and then sighed. "All right, little heathen, what do you want from me?"

The boy brightened, and then took in a deep breath, closing his eyes, and began to shift. He shrank, growing furrier, and eventually a small, masked creature tilted its head at him, bright eyes vivid. Draco laughed and nodded, smiling ruefully. "I've been an awful influence on you children, you know it is a crime to be an unregistered animagus, right?"

"We're all all over ourselves to be just like you, Pop."

Draco rolled his eyes at Tartarus, as she leaned down, and affectionately picked up the small raccoon, who docilely allowed itself to be picked up like a stuffed animal.

"Insolence from my own daughter, you wound me, freckles."

"Yeah well, you know. I live with the disappointment of my parents constantly," she said mildly, smiling. "Can I be next? I want to be next. I want to be something excellent, like a lion, or a tiger, or some kind of venomous snake, or maybe a porcupine, with poisonous quills, or-"

"Yes, yes, yes, something ferocious, message received."

Tartarus grinned and rolled her eyes at him, but carried the small raccoon formed Slytherin out of the older kids lair, back to where the younger lot had set up camp. Draco leaned back, stretching, glancing lazily over at poor Pan's form sprawled, still asleep on the ground. He frowned slightly, last night was a massive blur, how had they ended up in bed? He hoped it wasn't a repeat of last summer, or Pansy would pee on herself with laughter, which might get messy. He sighed, and got up, cracking his back, to go and try to figure out his deal with the Seeker.


	27. Seeing Red

Authors note: This is a very long chapter! Well, not all that long, but a lot happens. I am still beta-less, so if you notice any edits, please let me know! Woohoo, we're in the midsts of my favorite parts (well the most fun to write). This is sort of a fast paced one, any comments or reviews on how it's written would be appreciated! Thanks, and Enjoy!

Warnings: Violence, some gore, not a ton, and of course, a note about the violence at the end.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, alas.

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

* * *

Draco paced up and down the line of his troops. 30 motionless figures stood, hands clasped behind their backs, staring straight forwards. They were in black cloth pants, and body hugging black shirts, to allow for maximum agility while covering as much skin as possible. They had taken squid ink, notorious for dying the hands of anyone that used it, and painted their eyes and lips black where the masks let skin show. On each forearm and on their backs, and across their abdomens, they had written their code name in the ink. No one wanted to say it, but it was incase they needed to identify a body.

Draco had given each one a ring (stolen from his parents deserted closets) and Perses had worked out the blood magic, if they touched their own blood to the ring, and pressed for more than a few seconds, it would activate and bring them back to the library.

Draco was keeping his face impassive, but he was jittery. The apprehension and odd pulling from within he felt on the full moon was present even today, while the sun remained out. Oberon and Cerberus were staying behind, with the four youngest of their numbers.

Draco took a deep breath, knowing he needed to have some sort of speech, and go over the plan one more time. "Alright, in a moment, we'll pair up, and apparate to the place we all discussed. Once there, I'm not going to lie to you, things probably won't go as planned. You all know your teams. All we are doing is breaching, holding them off, and then the three looting teams will separate, and take anything worth taking. Then sabotage, with me and Pan will go, spoil any food we can find, snap any wands we can find, set any prisoners loose we can, and generally make nuisances of ourselves. I know, for some of us, you might see someone you know, and it'll hurt, but if we don't end this war, then it'll end us. We can't have that, can we?"

The cry of no, in unison made his heart swell. They had been working on their stealth, fighting, shields, hexes, everything. They had spent the weeks making potions necessary; everyone carried dittany on them, meant to save any limbs lost. They were all stronger than he could have imagined, and it quelled his rage at all of the wrong-ness that had happened, on all sides but his some days when in the past it would have been too much.

"Alright, lets go. Once we're there no talking, so I guess all I have to say it, die with your masks on kids, and if anyone looks at you funny, fight back. Be brutal."

They walked out, together, through one of the walls that had once been, before Draco's home had burned, and Nemisis slipped up to him, quietly taking his hand. He gave it a squeeze, and then took a deep breath, and concentrated hard on apparition, even though he was new to it, he couldn't splinch Nemisis, that would not be a good way to start off the mission. The crack, and sickening jerk made him want to vomit, but he managed to land upright, easing Nemisis, helping her catch herself. He turned to the others, and held a finger to his lips, examining the position of the sun.

Nearly sundown, close enough, likely. He motioned to Phobos, and he and his group of larger boys moved forwards, towards the old orphanage, keeping to the shadows. Draco saw rather than heard their spells, jets of red light. He nodded to the next set, to go behind the others, making sure everyone was stunned, dead, blinded, or bound. Then the three looting teams, led by Nyx, Chronos, and Nike. Then, the remaining 5 of them set off, Tartarus and Morpheus with Pan, and Nemisis following Draco himself, as the entered.

Cocky Lord Voldemort had not set up many wards, he needed people to come and go too much, and trusted his death eaters far too much. Draco crept along, keeping himself low, Nemisis moving lightly behind him. He peered around a corner, spotting two hooded figures, guarding a door. A good a place as any to start.

"_Obscuro. Obscuro._"

He hissed, his wand poking out the tip of his shirtsleeve. The effects were instantaneous, as the two people whipped out their wands, unseeing eyes searching, heads swinging wildly seeking the source of the charms.

_"Petrificus totalus. Petrificus totalus."_

Both men fell, their hoods and masks falling away, still blinded, eyes darting frantically. He crept forwards, Nemisis following him silently, her overeager tongue held, as it was when she concentrated. He took out his knife, crouching before the men, pulling off their masks completely. He pulled up one of the men's sleeves, and cut straight though the dark mark, shallowly, but enough to draw blood. With his finger, he signed his C over each of their foreheads in the one mans blood, so that if others came by, they would know these two had been dealt with by one of their own.

Archaic? Yes. But the longer he was left to his own devices, and not just him, the wilder they all seemed to get, blood no longer bothering them as much as it might have. Some of the others maintained an odd reverence for life, but Draco couldn't help it. When the fury over what had been done to him and his friends, and his mother took over, he didn't mind ripping a few people to shreds. Although, part of him knew that later, when he wasn't possessed by a wild adrenaline, he would feel sick, and horror at himself, as usual.

He signaled to Nemisis and crept through the doorway the men had been guarding. Inside there were a few people, battered, bloody, and chained to the wall. Draco aimed a careful diffindo at the shackles, cutting them all, and then moved through, looking for faces to save more willingly. No one he knew, but he sighed and helped Nemisis try to gently rouse them. They held their fingers over their mouths, and gestured towards the door, quietly spelling the shackles off of the white, bloodied, but alive captives.

Draco signaled, Nemisis falling into place behind him immediately, and they both moved down a set of stairs at the back of the little wooden room. They found a kitchen, with some food stores, and a quick Incendio began what would surely be just the beginning of their distraction.

A death eater came running, to see to the smoke, and spotted the two, pointing his wand, but before he could say anything, Nemisis surprised Draco by drawing her wand, and saying, "_Defodio_!"

The gouging spell worked quickly and wildly, a large chunk of the death eaters midsection gruesomely scooping and squelching its way out of the man, who fell to his knees, with a scream, cut short by blood bubbling on his lips. Draco tried to move Nemisis along, but the determined little girl batter his hand away, and knelt next to the dying man, dipping her finger delicately into a small puddle of blood pooling from his mouth, and wrote a shaky N on his forehead.

Draco gave her a nod, not wanting to speak, and though he knew it was sick, he was proud of the 15 year old, even though killing was bad and all that, she had stuck to the cause wholeheartedly, and lets be real, Draco wasn't squeamish or picky about whether victims lived or died in the first place.

The two moved along the ground floor passage, meeting up with the other looting group. Draco signaled for Nemisis to join the others, and while she looked annoyed, and narrowed her eyes, she didn't break the cardinal rule, and said nothing, following Pan further on down. Draco moved along searching for a staircase that would go down.

He found it, some kind of muggle storage cellar from when this had used to be an odd orphanage, and stole down the stairs, treading as lightly as he could. His eyes adjusted, to see two large guards, armed and ready, more serious than the ones from before. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, thinking he recognized one of them.

"_Eviscero. Petrificus Totalus."_

The first mans stomach ripped open, his intestines spilling out, but the second man, the familiar one, just fell to the ground. Draco moved to the man, crouching next to him, hissing, "You let him kill our mothers, and you tried to kill me."

He tore off Yaxely's mask, and pulled his wand up, to the man's face. "_Defodio_," he snarled. The mans eyes scooped themselves out of his head, though petrified, he was unable to even scream. Draco signed their faces, using the strange mans blood, not wanting to touch Yaxley more than necessary. Then he opened the door, and when he saw what he did, finally someone he recognized, he was a little surprised.

* * *

Author's note: So, I know there are those out there who are on the side of the argument, that Draco can't kill. And I'm actually sort of with you there, I don't think he would be able to murder someone who hadn't done anything, but he's always been extreme in canon, and so I imagine if his mother and friends were threatened and slighted, and he was humiliated, and remember, he blames the werewolf-ness and everything being ruined on Voldy, so I don't actually think he would have any problems killing death eaters. So that's why he does. No worries, he's no sociopath, he'll be shaken by it later.


	28. Tarnished Brass Hero

Disclaimer: Nada es mine.

Authors note: Hah! I'm giddy because I just wrote the first hints of slash. IT IS WRITTEN (in the stars?). Anyways. Enjoy! This is a short, cliff hanger-ish one, but hopefully you lot will enjoy it. No list, since I only mention 2 of them, and if you can't work out who it is, then beg, and a list I shall post. Excellent. Read on!

* * *

Draco eased the frail man out of the body length chains. The old man was unconscious, covered in blood, his left, withered hand at an unnatural angle, angry and swollen. Draco muttered a curse, under his breath, trying to get a hold on the old man, but Draco was no longer the sleek, well fed prince he had been, and he was worried about breaking this paper-thin man.

It was also terrifying; such power could be so worn down, so bedraggled. Draco eased the mans right arm over his shoulder, holding him gingerly by the ribcage, dragging the old man, ignoring the whimpers and intakes of pain.

Where the hell was Potter, Draco's thoughts were annoyed, he shouldn't have come here, have done this just because Tartarus's old boyfriend had needed a little help, the most he could do was show up on time, the bastard.

And it wasn't long before someone would notice all the intrusions and send some kind of something. Draco was aware his slightly panicked thoughts made little sense, but as he dragged the old man along, up the stairs, he could feel panic building. There was no way that he could get this guy out of here by himself, and he would never admit it, but every time he killed someone it made him want to throw up, and made him hate himself a little more, afterwards.

Draco managed to get the man along the corridor, searching in vain for an exit, a window, anything. He came upon a small window, finally, drew his wand, and muttered, "_Bombarda!_"

The wall exploded, and the whole building shuddered, bits of muggle structure flying. Draco hoisted the old man up, dragging him over the rough edges of the blast hole in the wall. He kept them to the shadows, doing his best to ignore the shouting in the distance.

He raised his wand as a figure barreled towards him, but before he could fire off a curse, he recognized one of his own. Tartarus, her eyes bright, pale hands raised in silent surrender. Behind her, Potter, and his two lackeys. Potter opened his mouth, to shout, or speak, or something, but Tartarus clamped her hand over his mouth, and shook her head, holding her other finger up to her mouth.

The shouting grew closer, and Draco moved, transferring the old mans crumpled body to Weasley's arms and then turned to Tartarus. He raised his hand, making the signal for home, then pointing to his own ring. He drew his dagger, and though Potter tried to lunge forwards, one look from Tartarus, and he stopped, obviously stumped. Tartarus reached out, firmly grabbing her brother, and Potter, and Granger, quick as ever, grabbed Potters arm. Draco raised his bleeding hand over hers, letting it drip onto the ring, and they disappeared.

Draco turned, and leaped, shifting into his animagus, and the body felt like homecoming. He threw back his head and let out his loudest hyena cackle, signaling the other teams to apparate back. He turned towards what his ears picked up as a human, medium sized, male, moving behind him. His eyes narrowed, adjusting to the varying lights, and for a moment, he made out Pan's figure before a snap of apparition had him turn, and in a flash of light, and a high cackle that was not his own, his world went dark.


	29. Family Reunion

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warning: violence.

Author's note: Lucius is an a-hole, and it's a short one, and things. Enjoy!

* * *

A bright red, hot wand pressed into his side again, tapping, the hissing, the burning scent of flesh made him sick. Everything hurt, his whole body ached, his eyelids felt heavy and grainy, and his every limb felt as though it was a million pounds heavier than it should've been. The insistent burning pressed deep into his back again.

A deep voice, one Draco could identify as his father, growled wetly against his ear. "You're lucky the dark lord has other things to do than torture an impertinent brat right now, boy. But your time will come."

The burning ceased, and Draco grimaced. So he'd been identified then. But it seemed that they hadn't caught anyone else, so if he could just take all the blame, it would be ok. His back ached, his father had purposely been burning him badly enough that his ability to slightly accelerate the healing of small wounds and erase small scars wouldn't help him now.

Draco cracked an eyelid, his eyes thick with sand. Light. So it was the day. If he could only just survive until the evening, it would be all right. He closed a weary eye, and steeled himself, going over his thoughts, his mantra, over and over again. He had trained for this, hypothetically.

It would be ok. At this juncture in his life, it was sad to say that waking up with everything hurting was not only nothing new, but also; he had to think of the pack. His new family. That was it. Not dwell on how his father, who had once doted on him, was now revolted by him. Not about how he could ruin everything and get everyone killed.

He curled up, ignoring how his very bone marrow hurt as the skin across his back stretched. His chest and back protested as he took shallow breaths in and out. He tried to focus, making out what he could of his surroundings. It was midday, maybe, the sun was bright, and pretty high in the sky. Draco shifted, looking around the small, dusty room. He was chained to a radiator, but other than that, the room was empty. No way to know where he was. He assessed himself, luckily, his dad had been burning him through the thin material of his shirt, and he was still covered. His mask had been yanked off, and he couldn't see his legs, but they hurt something awful, twisted back, against the hot metal he was chained to. He realized with a sinking feeling that his knife was gone, as was his wand, the two holsters on his belt were empty.

Draco closed his eyes, straining against the hot metal at his side, trying to get as far away from it as he could. All there was to do was wait, but he felt exhausted, wearied to the very bone.


	30. A cat amongst the pigeons

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine!

Warnings: Language. Harry sulks because he doesn't like not knowing whats going on, and also he's a man of action.

Authors note: As always I'm not that great with writing the Gryffindors but if your curious about Ginny and her not being head over heels, I feel like now that she has a purpose in life, she is too busy to just moon over him.

* * *

"Ginny, what the hell?" Harry finally managed, blinking around at the dark surroundings. They were on the lawn of some big, dark house. Ron was holding up Professor Dumbledore, but his skin was dead white under the freckles, and he looked horrified at the mans condition.

Ginny shook her head, gesturing for them to follow, and Harry wondered for a moment if this was a ploy. He had recognized her brown eyes, framed by red eyelashes, though he couldn't see any other part of her, she was under a mask and clothes. She had run and nearly tackled Ron, silently gesturing for them to follow, but she hadn't spoken, was she real? She'd led them past some other masked people, not seeming at all alarmed by them. Was Ginny on the other end of the snidget? How? She was only 15, she couldn't have been that clever, and why would she have signed her note C?

The questions were multiplying in Harry's head, and he seemed wary, and Hermione did as well. But Ron followed Ginny up the steps, taking Dumbledore with him, so they didn't have much choice and followed. Ginny led them through a dark shadowy room, the greyish marble was sort of dusty and it looked abandoned, but as though it might've once been a great hall of sorts. Ginny moved them down through a winding corridor, down some stairs, through a hole in a wall, then down another corridor, before she turned, holding up her hand for them to stop. She disappeared through a different hole in the wall, and reappeared a few moments later with a large lanky figure, whose black painted lips smiled a friendly smile at them, before taking Dumbledore. Ron hesitated for a moment, but Ginny nodded at him, and he let go, letting the hooded boy take Dumbledore. Harry gritted his teeth. Where the hell were they taking him, he wanted to scream, but Ron's agitation about his sister, and the relief in his eyes when she had hugged him back at the orphanage kept Harry biting his tongue.

Ginny took Ron's hand, and led him down a corridor, to a small hallway, where she opened a door, and there were three people, playing exploding snap by a fire. Ginny ushered them in, gave Harry smile, and Ron a wink, and then closed the door.

The Patil twin's and Lavender, who had been laughing and playing looked up, and smiled. "Harry! Ron! Hermione!" Hermione smiled a little weakly at her roommates, and sat down by them, Ron hesitantly following. Harry looked around the room; there were mattresses, 9 of them, and not a whole lot else. He walked to the small window, which overlooked a sun rising over a foggy moor.

"I don't mean to be rude but where are we? And why won't Ginny speak to us? And why are you here? I saw you, all of you on the list of missing students." Hermione's voice was softer than Harry would've managed, but it worked better than Harry's yelling probably would've.

Padma smiled, responding matter of factly. "I don't know where we are, an old magical manor though, for certain. Ginny and the rest of them can't talk in front of us much, they will sometimes, but not after one of these episodes where they're all painted up. And some masked people, they came, and got us from Hogwarts, we've been here. It's not really helping with our education, but there is a library when we aren't on lock down, and we are safe. Where did they rescue you from?"

"They didn't rescue us!" Harry said hotly, and Hermione whipped around to glare at him. He scowled, and leaned against the wall near the window, hating how much he felt like a misbehaved dog right now.

"Why is Ginny with them? Why isn't she in here safe?" Ron's voice was quiet, his eyes still intent on Padma, apparently not having noticed Harry's outburst.

"Oh, they always offer you a choice, to be smuggled out, to stay with some conditions, or to join them. Ginny joined."

Ron's slow nod, and slight scowl should've made Harry feel bad, for assuming just because Ginny wasn't he usually bubbly self that she wasn't herself. But he didn't he was annoyed, wanted to work everything out. So. It might not have been Ginny, one of the others that was here, who had sent the bird and notes.

"Who else is here?" Hermione, ever the practical on target person that she was, asked, shifting slightly closer to the fire.

"Oh, about 20 others, then there's an awful lot of masked kids, but not any adults I've seen so far. There are a few younger children, mostly younger cousins and siblings of Hogwarts students, and some young kids that I'm not sure where they got them from. The little ones are in the other room, we try to take care of them, but you know. Hannah's probably a moment away from shooing them into one of the bigger rooms to run or something."

"This is crazy! Who are they? You can't tell me you were abducted by people who won't tell you who they are, and who are obviously not shy about kidnapping, and you're just going to contentedly let them lock you up just because they say they aren't death eaters?" Harry didn't realize he was yelling, but all of the other people in the admittedly small room winced, and he realized how raised his voice actually was. Padma's eyes went cold, but Harry honestly couldn't bring himself to care. He wanted to know where he was, who was holding him, and more importantly, why no one else was upset about this.

Before Padma, her eyes flashing, could respond, Lavender spoke, quietly, "We weren't abducted, Harry. We were rescued. They said we could leave, Death Eater's wouldn't have offered us a chance to leave, and if Ginny and Seamus and everyone trusts them, then I'm going to stick it out, at least I'm out of the way here. I don't want to die, just because I don't like the quarter's I was offered."

Harry felt slightly defeated, and slid down, into a seated position. He opened his mouth, to ask more things, to apologize, something, but then the door opened, and Ginny came in, her mask off, and tucked into the pocked of her cloth black pants. There were faint smears of black paint still on her face, but her smile was big, and she ran to Ron, who stood up and caught her.

"Gin! I thought you were dead! Or abducted!"

She laughed and rolled her eyes, "You're so mellow dramatic, Ron, I'm fine." She gave him another hug, then turned and moved for the door again, continuing, "I have to go, I have a thing to do, but then I'll come back and you can tell me what silly things you were doing, trying to help Harry save the world." Her smile was playful, but for some reason Harry felt as though when it reached him, it momentarily faltered. Before either boy could stop her and ask her anything else, she slipped out, closing the door behind her. Hermione continued to ask the girls things, while Ron sat by the fire, looking towards the door, and Harry leaned against the cold wall, unable to stop sulkily thinking that this was not how he had imagined the evening going.


	31. Destroy Them, Rank By Rank

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warnings: Language, violence, subtle homosexuality, but only if you're looking for it, some heroics.

* * *

Blaise paced agitatedly, glaring at anyone who dared look at him funny. He was in the library, and he felt like some kind of caged animal. Nyx sat quietly next to the fireplace, though the fire that had been bright in it was dying. Beside her, Nemisis was curled up, her eyes fixed out the window, on the grounds outside, as the sun lilted across it.

Stupid. How could Draco have been so fucking stupid. Didn't he know that without him, this group, this everything, this was nothing. They couldn't go on without him, he was smart, he was funny, he was the one with the real drive. Blaise might have to be tortured to admit it, but if left to his own devices he probably would have tried to lay as low as humanly possible, and not done anything. But of course, Draco would never do something so passive. That damn boy felt too much and tended to evoke the same from everyone around him, and now Blaise was left with a whole mansion full of people looking to him as to what to do, how to get Draco back.

"Nyx. Watch everyone. I'm going for a run."

He said tersely, turning away from her so she wouldn't be able to see his face as he lied. He was surprised when she just nodded, her tight, pale lips not giving an inch. He moved across to the stair case and strode up it, a pea brained idea forming in his head. He knew what he was about to do was incredibly stupid, but what the hell right?

* * *

Blaise closed his eyes, pressed his wand to his dark mark, and as soon as he felt the pull of apparition, he focused, strongly, on his reservation of animagus. That's sort of how Blaise got into it, he felt like he was plunging into a cool reservoir that was the Maned Wolf. He bit his tongue at the stinging of shifting, combined with the jerking of apparition.

He landed on unsteady paws, falling on his side, disoriented. He had been thankfully deposited outside of whatever building the dark lord was in, and was able to lay flat for a moment, catching his breath, before he sprang up. It was too soon, too close to the moonrise, but he would have to risk it. He sniffed, flooded with scents, picking out a sweet, familiar musky one, and following it, his nose very nearly pinned to the ground.

The scents were mingled, and too much, the heady scent of under washed wild men and women from Greybacks pack were masking everything, and as the sun sank lower and lower, Blaise felt a cramping dread build in his gut. He cursed mentally, picking up his pace, slipping in through one of the old stone house's open doors. He heard a blood curdling howl, and his heart froze in his chest. Too late. Greyback would not take Draco's disobedience well, and when the man was a wolf, he was crazy.

Blaise dropped all hopes of finding any friendly faces here, and loped along, through the winding corridors, towards where his sensitive ears told him the sounds of werewolves were coming from. Blaise froze, his eyes wide.

A snarling circle of wolves paced around a lump. The bloodstained grey and white fur of Draco's wolf form was matted and Draco snapped his large jaws feebly as wolves darted forwards to nudge and bit him. He'd obviously been tortured, he could hardly stand, and though his lips were pulled back in a fierce snarl, Blaise knew that if his life wasn't in danger, Draco would be out cold.

Blaise spotted a wolf on the periphery, and crept forwards, shoving his nose into the familiar wolfs side. The large brown and grey wolf swung its head to look at Blaise, yellow eyes calmer, more human than any other wolf here.

Blaise whined, and the other wolf wuffed, its sympathy clear, but it turned, intent on not helping him. Blaise growled, his eyes narrowing, and shoved the other wolf firmly with his head. He pricked his ears challengingly, his tail held out stiffly, defiantly.

The older wolves eyes were sad, but he shook Blaise off, as if he were a flea, telling Blaise to calm down and wait, as he always did when he was his equally frustrating self as a man. Blaise growled, and paced on the edges, wildly and the large silver form of Greyback picked up Draco, dropping him on the ground with a sickening thud. Blaise was about to lose it, lunge forwards, do anything, when the steel grey eyes met his, and Draco dramatically whined, tucking his tail in submission, rolling over for Greyback. Greyback snarled, but seemed mildly placated. Before he could push Draco around to prove anything, the mousy brown wolf from earlier, jumped on one of the black female wolves, snarling. The two raised an unholy ruckus, howling, screaming, and Greyback shouldered through his pack, everyone crowding around the pair rolling in the dirt, and just then, the Dark Lord appeared, in a window, and three bodies fell with a sickening crunch. The wolves surged forwards, and Blaise leaped forwards, grabbing Draco by his scruff, and dragging the larger wolf around the edge of the house. He shifted as fast as he could, and touched his ring to the blood on Draco's fur, and a sickening jerk began, but not before a howl of outrage, and battery of spells was fired in their direction, but as soon as he had his arms around his quarry, and the world began to jerk out of view, Blaise didn't care about the pain blossoming across his back.


	32. Thick As Thieves

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine!

Authors note: Ah sorry, I meant to post this this morning, then write more chapters so I could post more tonight, but my family has sheep, and we had 4 sets of triplets born today, which I interpreted as a sign from on high to skip school, and then of course I had to putter around outside pretending to be useful so no one would send me somewhere were I might have to learn. BUT ENOUGH ABOUT ME, on with the story, says the audience! PS: Ruby Silken Sun, thank you! You're the first person to comment on the usefulness of the lists before each chapter, so I'll continue, if only just for you! Any how, read on!

Warnings: Err, some sap? IDK, recovering for the next action sequence, I guess!

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

* * *

Draco groaned, his only thought that he felt absolutely awful. There was a hushed murmur, and someone came over, falling to their knees. He felt someone's arms being thrown around him, but his raw throat was too crusty to cry out in pain, even as his whole body screamed at the physical contact.

"Dad!" The whispered proclamation left him silent for a moment. Was he someone's father- Oh. He remembered and cracked an eyelid, surveying Hypnos in what he hoped was a suitably withering manner. The young girl looked as though she'd been crying, her mask off, he thought, but was too sore to admonish her carelessness.

At her intonation, two others came over, but Draco let his eyes fall close, and there was a scuffling sound, before one of them ran off, the sound of feet smacking stone floors fading as Draco felt his eyelids grow heavy. Before he could fall asleep, there was a sharp poke to his arm, and Draco wished he could punch whoever was poking him in the face.

He opened his eyes, lifting his head, relieved that at least he didn't have a headache to make thinking hard. He looked around, recognizing the room he was in as one of the small play rooms his mother had set up for him when he was a toddler. So he was back at the manor.

He glanced to the side, where there were 4 other mattresses with lumps under their covers, presumably other people in need of some kind of medical attention. Leto came over to him, kneeling next to him, offering him a thick black, tar like potion. He grimaced at her, and she seemed more pleased than someone who was being mocked ought to be.

"Come on, before Nyx get's here and tries to smother you with her mothering," encouraged the soft spoken Ravenclaw, pleased when Draco grumpily drank the awful liquid. It did help dull all pain, and made him feel almost steady.

Draco managed to sit up, giving the small, brightly painted room a withering look. "I can't believe that I'm holed up in this children's room. No wonder I feel nauseated."

Leto just smiled brightly at him, and moved to the next bed, gently shaking Hyperion awake, and offering him a different potion. The exuberant Irishman drank it down much more willingly than Draco had, and looked over, giving Draco an easy smile. "Hey boss," He said, conversationally, waving a bandaged arm in what was presumably meant to be some sort of welcoming gesture.

"What happened?" Draco knew his voice was hoarse and croaking, but did Hyperion really need to give him an alarmed look like that. Just because he sounded like death didn't mean he was actually going to die.

"Well you saved Harry and them, and then Tart says that you got captured, then mom got all up in arms and went and got you. We got 'em though, we got loads of food, and we even managed to take a few of those twats out, and we got professor Dumbledore, but he won't wake up, not really."

Draco rolled his eyes are the boys enthusiastic story telling, snorting, doubting Potter felt as though he'd really been rescued. Prat had probably had figured out who he was and demanded to be turned out on the street.

Before Draco could consider any of the rest of Hype's hand flapping-filled story, Nyx burst in with Nemisis and Tartarus hot on her heels. All three threw themselves onto the foot of his bed, nattering about how did he feel and nonsense, and Nemisis and Tartarus were both stumbling over themselves to apologize for cruelly abandoning him in his time of need, and before anyone said anything else, Draco raised his hands in a sign of surrender. "Please, for the love of Merlin, contain yourselves, and let a poor moon addled man think."

Draco might not admit it, but he felt a slight swell, he knew that he should be scolding them to wear their masks, and to ask them a million questions, but all he felt was glad that they were alright, and amused by their predictable overwhelming sense of everything being their own fault.

"You've been asleep for days! You gave poor Potter a heart attack, he was about, doting on Dumbledore and you turned into a sleeping wolf. He of course jumped around yelling we were under attack!" Nemisis sounded positively gleeful, and Tartarus smacked her, but grinned anyhow, too happy to be properly annoyed.

"I should've known, the moment I passed out, Potter would be about, attempting to woo my women." He tried to sound morose, but Hype's maniac cackling at the idea was making it hard to sound serious. Nemisis leaped to her feet, and bounded between Draco's mattress and the one on the other side. She pounced on the sleeping lump, and was promptly thrown off, but a tired looking Pan popped his head out from under the covers, whose expression turned from dour to a relieved odd little grin when he caught Draco's eyes.

"I hear you rescued me."

Pan just rolled his eyes and nodded, stretching stiffly, a smile still on his angular face.

"As ever, I am your faithful damsel in distress," Draco said, simpering mockingly.

"Very pretty, but very useless," mused Pan mildly, arranging his covers about himself, neatly, trying to shove Nemisis (who was sprawled on the foot of his bed like an overgrown cat) off, but not managing to muster the strength.

Before anything else could be said, 20 excitable teenagers burst in, all arranging themselves across Draco, Pan, and Hyperion's beds, and the floor space between the mattresses. Draco scowled around at them, all unmasked, but he could still see the stains left by the ink around their eyes and mouths, making them look absurd and he couldn't help but smile.

"They're weird children, but I guess we can't kick them out, what would the neighbors say?" mused Pan, looking over at Draco with a grin, his spirits also obviously uplifted by the high energy of the bright eyed youths in the room.

"Bad form," agreed Draco, looking around at all his 'children' with an odd little sensation bubbling in his chest. Must be Leto's weird potion nonsense.


	33. Do What It Takes To Survive

Disclaimer: Nada is mine. That means nothing.

Authors note: One right after the other, wham. Oh and the quote that Draco uses at the end is from Milton's Paradise Lost (because I can't help myself, and I am an utter nerd sometimes).

Warnings: Draco is sleepy, and Harry is as usual, less than tactful. No warnings though, except teasers as to some upcoming plot points (only if you hunt for them). No need for the list, since there are only a few characters (2) in this chapter.

* * *

Draco was sitting on the open door of the kitchen, ignoring the cold stone steps, looking out across the lawn and its fog, fondly. He used to love skidding around in the snow on this lawn, and as the snow from the chilly front blown off Scotland caused fat, thick snowflakes to fall, he felt nostalgic.

He didn't move, not even to look as someone sat beside him, he just kept looking at the snow, falling slowly, the thick air unnaturally quiet and muffled as it always was during thick snowfall like this.

"So, you aren't evil."

Draco turned to give Potter a judgmental look before turning back to the landscape. "Eloquent, as always," he said finally, in a mild voice, eyes still on the white grey sky. Gryffindors, it was all black and white with them. Either you were a saint, and on their side, or an evil minion of the dark forces, who deserved nothing but death by hanging. They sat in silence, and eventually, Draco added, "I did come help you. You know. On my own."

Potter just nodded, though his face was furrowed. Draco was tempted to make a cutting remark about the boy not hurting himself while trying to think, but he felt drained from the recent full moon, and if Potter beat his brains in it wouldn't be good for the revolution.

Out of the corner of his eye he was satisfied to note that Potter had the sense to start to look abashed about his instinctive distrust. The shaggy haired Gryffindor looked uncomfortable, as if he was sitting with a blasted-ended skrewt, but in retrospect, Draco supposed that maybe the other boy was not to blame.

"You're a werewolf."

Draco snorted. "All these observations you're making at quite obvious, you know," was all he said, feeling detached, and frankly, a little to tired to prod and poke at Potter with his usual vigor.

"But, Gin say's you can control yourself without wolfsbane? And none of these other's seem scared of you."

Draco shrugged, shivering slightly, not wanting to have to open his mouth and respond, but when he glanced over at the Gryffindor, something about those bright eyes, trained, unblinking on him, made him sigh, and consider an answer.

"It's complicated. There's a lot of people who can control themselves, or at least be conscious when theyre wolves. It's an uproar in the were community, because Wolfsbane potion, once you've had it once, you're separating the wolf from the human, so yes, you become a tame wolf, but you can't reconcile the two, so most of the older wolves can't ever control themselves without it and never will. And it's not easy to control. I still have the urge to bite and eat anything with a pulse, and I'm a blood thirsty little bugger, but it doesn't mean I have to go overboard and maul my friends."

Potter mulled that over, while Draco rubbed his eyes tiredly. He didn't go into the animagus form, or all of the odd Trelawney-esque exercises that he'd had to go through, or about Professor Snape and some old grey haired man, and how they had also gone through and screwed around with his genetics and insides. If they ever survived this war, and if they were ever friends, maybe then, he would mention it. Potter opened his mouth, then closed it, a few times, clearly struggling against the stereotype that werewolves were always crazed psychotic serial killers. Though, he supposed that there was some sense to that, as Draco himself wasn't exactly and angel, here.

They sat in silence, snow falling, blanketing the world, chilling it down, numbing everything.

"You helped me."

"Yes. Seriously, stop stating the obvious."

"You helped Ginny."

"Not to worry, Potter, she utterly refuses to run off with me and be my gingery pirate queen."

That got the other boy to splutter and blush, and stammer out some sort of comment of brotherly outrage. Draco rolled his eyes and leaned against the door frame, idly reaching out to try to catch a snowflake. He was tired, and sore, and the familiar ache of the crutiatus curse was weighing on his body.

They sat in an odd tense silence, that Draco was too tired to break for a while, Potter fidgeting and staring at him, as Draco kept his eyes on the lazily falling snow flakes.

"They call you Dad. Because you take care of them. But you hated them. What- well, why, I guess."

Draco let the Gryffindor stew for a moment as he thought his answer through. He shrugged, and wanted to let that be his answer, but again Potter's Avada Kedavera eyes were eyeing him, unforgivingly. He sighed, trying to figure out how to phrase it simply enough not to be argued. "I didn't want to die for my fathers cause. And I wanted them all to burn, for how they burned my mother. And. In the perspective of death, childhood opinions of other children paled, and I just wanted to help keep others from falling prey to their parent's fears and opinions."

They sat in silence again, the nearly mute sounds of falling snow even and calming, and after a moment, Draco added, quietly, "Awake, arise, or forever be fallen."


	34. Not a house but a tomb

Disclaimer: Not much of anything is mine.

Warning: Maybe language, but probably not. Slytherins cuddling. Alarmed Harry.

Authors note: So Harry in my head, is the type to be alarmed by almost any PDA because affection wasn't offered to him as a child, or displayed in front of him as a child so he likely finds it all alarming in public.

* * *

Malfoy turned to Harry, who was still mulling over his response. Malfoy climbed to his feet slowly, his movements lacking their sleek grace, and for the first time, he noticed how bony and underweight Malfoy looked. He watched as the other boy retreated silently, confused, and sat there for another moment, trying to decide what to think about the tow headed boy.

He knew he should trust him, Ginny did, even Hermione was coming around. Malfoy had gone and rescued his friends, and even though it was rumored he was turning his little gang into killers, Harry couldn't exactly blame him, since they were both sort of doing all of this because they missed their parents. But at the same time, Harry couldn't help it, he was suspicious of any ulterior motives, why would Malfoy just switch sides, mid war. He'd over heard Malfoy and Zabini talking about Greyback, and it sounded like Malfoy used to be all chummy and in his pack, and weren't werewolves supposed to be loyal?

And the killing… And how calm Ginny and even Neville were about talking about how many people _Chaos_ had killed, and how they hadn't killed yet, but they would and they were sure that the other side bloody deserved it, and they didn't get why Hermione and Harry were so perplexed by it. It was just, it made it all too real, seeing his friends, who he was used to seeing goofing off, and studying, here learning curses, and calmly telling him that if they had to, they were sure they could kill.

He sighed, and considered trying to go find Ron, but Ron was probably with Ginny or Dean, and both of those two got all cagey whenever Harry was suspicious of Malfoy. Apparently living in this weird building had the side effect of making you suddenly adore Malfoy.

After a while, he got cold, and got up, to go find Hermione. It had been a little subdued around this old place, since he wasn't allowed back where all of rebels slept, but he was going to hang himself if he was forced to do one more mundane task, or read one more book with the refugees.

He found Hermione with Dumbledore. The old man had not woken up, though they had managed to fix his broken arm, and ease his breathing. Harry glanced over at Malfoy's bed, but was slightly alarmed to see it empty, and instead the blonde head one bed over on Zabini's bed. Harry privately judged Malfoy at not being able to find his own bed, he hadn't been hurt that badly, had he?

Harry and Ron had spent the past few days since they'd arrived (when they weren't horsing around with the other Gryffindors) sending owls to anyone they could think of that might have a hint as to what came next or who might know how to wake up unconscious very powerful wizards.

Harry sat down quietly next to Hermione, and his friends glanced up from her book, and gave him a smile. He examined the book title and found himself bored just looking at the ancient dusty cover.

He leaned back against the stone wall, and let his gaze wander. Seamus had gotten his bandages off of his newly mended hand, and had been set loose on the rest of the rebels, as a form of punishment no doubt, the Irishman had always been a terror when he had pent up energies.

Harry froze when he saw Zabini's arm snake around Malfoy's middle. Malfoy was facing him, asleep, and he stayed asleep, even as Zabini pulled him closer. Oh god. Slytherins knew how to cuddle? And also, did Parkinson know? She had been all over Malfoy just the other day, he had seen it, weren't they dating, have the Slytherins no decency at all. He stumbled to his feet, and set off, mumbling an excuse to an oblivious, uncaring Hermione.

He wondered why he felt annoyed, it wasn't like he actually cared, but that kind of thing seemed like it shouldn't be flaunted about, not that it was about it being two boys, he was fine with that, but it was about it being Malfoy, didn't he had a pureblooded reputation to maintain, and didn't he have about nine hundred girlfriends in Slytherin, did they know about this cuddling that the man was conducting with that dangerous looking other Slytherin, Zabini was a shifty character, maybe someone should warn Malfoy off of him.

Harry took a deep breath, realizing he wasn't sure where his footfalls were leading him, and his shock at seeing Slytherins express affection faded, in lieu of curiosity about where he was.

He wandered and eventually found himself in front a rickety staircase, which he climbed. He wandered along, continuing to randomly pick directions, and he could feel the air starting to smell weird. It was almost like an old, extinguished fire, thick and sooty but also old and musty.

He turned, and came upon a blackened, burnt room, so ruined that the floor didn't look safe enough to cross. Harry stopped and back tracked, turning up a stone staircase, his fingers skimming the blackened stones, clearly scored from flames.

He came upon several burnt rooms before it struck him. This was Malfoy Manor. He'd read about the fire, assuming that it was abandoned. Malfoy's mum had died here, along with her friends. How could Malfoy do that, bring himself to live in the shadow of his mothers tomb.

He felt a little sick, just as how when he thought about the bodies that they'd seen in that house, those mangled bodies. Ginny might've done that. Malfoy did. Ginny had told them how they signed their bodies, so they would know who did what, and though she refused to tell him who was who, he had worked out from listening, that the others called her Tart, and called Malfoy dad, or da, or father. But what was really eating at him, why hadn't Malfoy offered any more information. Didn't he want to help him? Harry was growing frustrated sitting here doing nothing in this old house, and sick thinking of how this stupid war was turning his class mates into wild eyed, feral killers.


	35. Taste of something dangerous

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warning: Drug use, authors notes at the end, and mild sexuality.

Authors note: Meep, so there are notes on behavior at the end, hang in there.

* * *

When Harry returned from his sulking, he could tell something was wrong. Hermione looked more frenzied than ever, and Ginny looked like she might actually die of laughing herself sick.

Ron was sitting on the steps of what might've once been an entrance hall and he was waving his hands in front of his face, his eyes bright, face amused. Hermione was talking quickly, her ton exasperated, and when Ron blinked at her, not understanding, Ginny giggled harder, clutching her side. Seamus, Dean, a familiar looking Hufflepuff, Zabini and Malfoy were all gathered by the door, laughing helplessly. They were all grasping at each other to hold themselves up, and Seamus waved exuberantly at Harry, hitting Dean in the head, and they all laughed harder.

Harry walked over to Hermione uneasily. "Err, what's going on?"

Ginny dissolved into a fit of laughter all over again. "It's not funny! They were doing drugs! We caught them, and Ronald here was with them. And he's never done a drug before, and they were smoking valerian root, it's a powerful potion ingredient, and that is not what it was intended for, oh honestly Ginny, it's not funny!"

Hermione's look was slightly crazed, she had never had the urge to scold that was this overpowering, obviously. Harry looked at his best friend, tempted to laugh when Ron tried to smile, but instead hiccupped, and looked affronted by the whole situation.

The group of boys descended upon them, and Malfoy immediately grabbed Ginny, spinning her around on the marble floor, and dipping her dramatically. He was trying to recite some kind of poem to her, but kept getting distracted, and of course Ginny was probably going to pass out soon if she didn't stop laughing at her brother to breathe.

Zabini wandered towards the Hufflepuff (Sam? John? A common name, Harry thought) and alarmingly pounced on the poor boy, shoving his tongue down the boys throat. Ron squawked and seized Hermione, manhandling her into position between the snogging boys and himself, his crazed eyes pausing, suddenly enraptured by the ceiling. "Are…. Are Slytherins allowed to kiss Hufflepuffs?" His voice was thick, and terrified, his eyes widening further, pupils huge.

Malfoy was still spinning Ginny, and dancing with her to music he could only hear, but he obviously forgot what he was doing mid step, and tripped, and sent them tumbling to the ground. Ginny looked over at Harry and smiled good naturedly from where she was tangled with Malfoy. Malfoy looked confused as to why he was on the floor, but instead of any of the expressions Harry might expect, Malfoy looked pleased, easy going even. Seamus and Dean ran over, helpfully pulling the two to their feet, before they were pleaded into helping Hermione get everyone downstairs where someone could help her be outraged. Ginny kept just shrugging helplessly and sniggering at Ron's wide eyed appreciation of every single aspect of the Manor they came upon.

"Oh, Harry, Da, make sure that mum doesn't mount Zack out here on the marble," tossed Ginny over her shoulder, as her parting statement. Hermione made a sound that could have been a distressed condor, shooting Harry a frantic look, and Harry decided that Hermione would be a frightful mother when the time came.

Harry frowned, and realized Zabini and this Zach character were nowhere to be found. "C'mon Malfoy, let's find them before Hermione asphyxiates."

Malfoy turned, his eyes setting on Harry, an intense predatory gaze made Harry take an uncertain step back. His eyes were huge, his dark pupils taking up nearly all of his grey irises. "Err Malfoy?" Harry said uneasily, taking another step back, licking his lips nervously.

"I'm not evil," stated Malfoy, his voice lazier than usual, his eyes hooded and for a moment he was distracted by a sound, turning to see where a distant sound came from. It was probably Hermione losing her mind, so Harry took a deep breath and smiled (or tried too), "Yep, not evil, come on then."

Malfoy turned and looked confused for a moment, as if he'd forgotten Harry was there.

"Shall we go get Zabini?" Harry asked uncertainly, taking another step back as Malfoy moved forwards, his dark eyes focused on something that no one else could see, it would seem, just over Harrys shoulder.

Then before Harry could grab him and try to herd him down the hall towards the others, Malfoy darted forwards with amazing ease for someone who was supposedly recently caught red handed smoking a plant, and pinned Harry to the wall, shoving his mouth against Harry's, hard.

"Mmmf!" Protested Harry, his eyes wide as he found himself shoved against the wall. This was not exactly on par with when he had kissed Ginny, or when Cho had kissed him, and the wall was hard and cold and hurt, and Malfoy was possibly trying to bite off Harry's lips, his bony body shoving Harry hard in weird places.

But before Harry could do anything except make the mistake of trying to talk and getting a mouthful of Slytherin, Malfoy dropped him, and turned, managing to be two whole steps away from him when Ginny came back, alone. He loped up to her easily, and lifted her up by the waist, telling her that she was the only ginger haired wench for him and that he would capture France for her, as he allowed himself to be led towards the library, his arm around her waist. He tossed Harry an odd look over his shoulder, a smirk across his dazed face before disappearing from view.

Harry stood there frozen for what felt like a year, before he remembered he was supposed to be finding Zabini and Paul or whatever. He blinked, and tried to think where to look. He licked his lips, and the weird sweet smoky taste of valerian root lingered, and he panicked momentarily.

Screw finding the others, Harry was going to have to write a letter to one of the older Weasley's telling them that their baby sister had taken up with scandalous, personal space invading Slytherins with awful morals.

* * *

Authors note: Okay, so I do not condone drug use or anything, but if my parents were dead and I was in a war, and I was a gang of unsupervised school children living the wild life, I might do drugs too. No, it's not going to be a big plot point, no drug abuse, and anyways, in my head valerian root is sort of like marijuana in the muggle world, a high, but not dangerously and immediately addictive. I chose valerian root because its a potion ingredient in mind altering and sleeping potions as per the HP Lexicon.

Also yes I know they only just spoke, but one, things need to get interesting, and this will amuse me. Also, I feel Draco is a nonconventional person, and also it will trigger an important plot arc (the first one thats even a little romantic!).

I am nervous to post this chapter, I hope you all like it, comments and constructive criticism always welcome! (Emice, hows that for Harry and Draco interacting? Your wish is my command).


	36. Sounds Of Wolves At The Door

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Warnings: Draco is a gossipy queen, but mostly this is a character development chapter.

AN at the end.

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

* * *

Draco woke up, his mind foggy. His whole body hurt, and he was still sore. He lay in the warmth of the sheets, basking in the silence that was the infirmary. Back in the lair, it was more comfortable, and was warm, and the close quarters were comforting, but it wasn't exactly peaceful. Draco loved waking up, all warm and twisted in soft cotton. He was a relatively low temperatured person, and when he went to sleep, his feet and nose were usually cold, but by the time he woke up, he was warm and it felt soft and good. Despite that, his head was muzzy, ringing a little, and he groggily stretched slightly, eyes shut, and the memory of the foggy, blur that was yesterday afternoon came back, and he groaned. What the hell had they been thinking? But he as he stretched, and opened his eyes, he immediately felt better, and extremely amused.

"Pan! There's a Hufflepuff in your bed, and I am so wounded. You cheated on me with a Hufflepuff? I want this marriage annulled I am so hurt. Wait. It's our child, oh Merlin, you are a mess."

Pan opened one eye, and threw a pillow at Draco, but Chronos opened both eyes and gave Draco a sheepish smile. "Sorry dad," he said, and snagged his shirt, slipping out of the room, a faint blush staining his pale cheeks. Draco rolled his eyes at his friend, who was casually not meeting his eye. Last summer, no, two summers ago now, in what seemed like a different universe, there had been a certain evening. It had been in the tumultuous days of Draco and Nyx dating and breaking up on whims, and when Nyx, at a party at Draco's own house, snogged one of the Fawcett boys, Draco had been incensed, and quite drunk. He and Pan had ended up shirtless, with Nyx fuming. Then of course, when Draco had explained it away as just experimenting and Pan had ignored Draco for a month in a huff. They'd mended their friendship, even snogged a few times, but Draco couldn't take him seriously, and Pan wasn't keen on Draco's short attention span, and naturally flirtacious manner. Besides, when Draco had taken up with Atlas, Pan had gotten persnickety and there had been a week long fight, until Draco got bored and decided to drop him, and chase after Susan Bones (before he snapped out of it, a Hufflepuff, after all), and Pan had miraculously forgiven him. Pan was a weird guy, he got fussy when Draco snogged boys, but didn't mind when he shagged girls, and then of course Pan himself was allowed to shag boys, girls, house plants, and no one batted a lash.

Ah, the adolescent years, so dramatic, and while at the time all of that had seemed the most important thing in the world, but in retrospect, it was all in good fun, and at least they were Slytherins, able to fight and bicker nonstop, but never risk breaking their friendships. Draco smiled, memories of the once normal teenage life he used to lead making him feel old. But also, made him feel like he was a new person; from that world of dinner parties, and dramatic friendships and romances, and almost incestuously complicated boarding school dramatics and rebelling against their parents because there was nothing better to do, to this, to living on the run, to not having hot water work all the time, sheltering Hufflepuffs, rubbing elbows with Gryffindors, and having their own parents try to blow their brains out with spells that were illegal.

"As always, you are a heart breaker, and I wake up alone and forlorn. I thought you were shagging Hebe, I am so unloved, a sad, lonely husband, oh woe-"

Before Draco could go on, Pan lobbed a pillow as hard as he could at Draco's face, and Draco snickered, sitting up, crossing his legs. He lounged back against the wall, amused at his friend, who was hiding under the blanket, clearly appalled also at having shared a bed with someone in the same room as their unconscious headmaster, all be it the old man had a makeshift curtain around his mattress. Nyx came in, not long after, but instead of bringing him breakfast (well, burnt toast, an egg and water), like he had become accustomed, she just brought him a dour expression.

"You're setting an awful example for the children. Really, Chaos? Smoking? Potion ingredients are for learning, not lighting on fire, and I though we were bored of breaking our parents rules and that's why we ran off to live like gypsy's."

Her hands were on her hips, but she was not at maternal as Granger had been, that much Draco did remember. Granger had been a blurry, loud, bushy haired, rampaging tornado, but Pansy only looked mildly annoyed. Draco knew her too well though, and knew about how she had had her own, ahem, rebellions against her mother, and he just shrugged, yawning. Nyx rolled her eyes and picked up his discarded shirt, throwing it at his face, as a method of inviting him to breakfast.

Draco followed her, rolling his eyes as Pan pretended to be sound asleep, muttering about how he would soon murder the next person who threw something at him.

He sat on one of the benches around the long table, between Nyx and Moros. Apperently, yesterday there had been some squabbling because of the disapproval on the part of the boys, and Tartarus was giving Hyperion a mouthful about how disappointed she was that he'd involve one of her brothers, and then of course, Oberon endeared himself to her by pointing out that she had so many, one had to be fun, at least, right?

Draco amused himself with leering knowingly at Chronos, while the other boy did his best to spend the whole meal studiously examining his bread and butter. Breakfast was not generally a meal that had lots of people present, because not a lot of them liked to wake up that early now that there were no classes, and they only had to learn what they wanted to learn, when they wanted to learn.

Draco reached for the coffee pot, pouring himself his third cup, slapping away greedy hands. Everyone should know by now, that Draco required his own pitcher of coffee, and that he would swear up and down that caffeine was a crucial part of a balanced diet.

Moros was of course, falling into old patterns by making Draco some buttered toast, and shoving it towards him with a stern expression that had Draco sighing, and taking a small, demonstrative bite. He wasn't a morning person, and before noon his stomach wasn't interested in food, even repulsed by it.

"After food, go get the others, lets gather in the infirmary, we need to work out our plans. Tart, go make sure your Gryffinbores are locked up nice and tight, would you, darling?"

She rolled her eyes haughtily at him, and dramatically stalked off, but Draco paid her no mind. She had a hot temper, but it cooled as quickly as it flared, and having been raised with approximately one million older brothers, she had a very understanding and all encompassing sense of humor.

Twenty or so minutes later, most of them were in the infirmary. Draco was sitting on his own bed for the past few days, with Nemisis, Hypnos, Tartarus, Selene and Lamia gathered around him on his bed. He was smiling smugly at being surrounded by girls, while trying to ignore Nyx, sprawled in a most unladylike manner against his bed, and Hecate and Tyche who were sitting like the faithful puppies they were, at Nemisis' feet.

Pan was joined by Phobos, Hebe, and Nike, while the rest of the younger members were seated on the floor between the two beds, and the rest were either leaning against the walls, or sitting on the edge of Hyperion's old bed.

"Alright, kids. So we have to talk about Potter, about what our next plans are, and about some boring stuff. Let's do the boring stuff first," began Draco ignoring Nemisis' whine when he said the word boring. She was convinced their lives should be nonstop action, and thought things like what they should eat, or if they needed clothes, were ridiculously mundane.

"Right, we need to find more food, the more people we've got here, the more we're gonna need to find a way to get food. Any ideas that don't involve continuing to rob muggles blind?" This time, it was Pan who had taken over, as he was better at being practical than Draco would ever hope to be. The room was silent, and Pan rolled his eyes. Initially there had been some unrest when they'd found out what filled the rebels pantry was stealing, but if they didn't steal they didn't eat, since they couldn't exactly wander into Diagon Alley looking for some dinner.

Pan muttered something about indecisive, and morals, and Draco was sure he heard the word murder, before throwing up his hands in surrender. Stealing it was, it seemed that the threat of hunger was too serious, more serious than letting the muggles hang on to their excess food.

Pan covered his face and waved his hand at Draco, signaling him to continue on without him. Draco snorted at his best friends melodramatics, but continued nonetheless. "Alright, what are we going to do next? We could do a few things, maybe all at once now that our little families all grown up. We could go back, try for the ones we missed at Hogwarts, but I'm not sure the risk would be quite worth it-"

"Of course it is! What the hell do you mean is the risk-" Morpheus cut in, ever the livid Gryffindor hero.

"He doesn't mean risk to us are you daft? What if we get them killed?" Snapped Nike, quick to defend, rolling her eyes in exasperation at Morpheus' rage.

"What if we do nothing and that gets them killed?" Little Eos' voice was soft, but worried. He was the youngest one there, only 12 or 13, and he was not only usually left behind, but mothered by nearly everyone in their little 30 person family.

"They can't kill them for no reason, not while the ministry and the prophet and public attention are turned to them about the disappearances, already," reasoned Perses though he sounded more hopeful than actually convinced by his own argument.

There was a silence, as everyone mulled it over. The air was thick with tension, as it generally was at these, but unlike back when they were in school they were bonded tightly enough by their commiseration, and common cause. The fighting might get hot headed, but they all needed each other, watched each other. Finally, Draco decided to begin the vote, "Alright, everyone for another go at Hogwarts?"

Sixteen hands went up, some flew, some more hesitantly. "And for not risking it?"

Draco added his own hand to that mix, counting twenty hands. Tartarus shot him a dirty look and he leveled her with a stare. "Look, I'm not one to leave anyone behind, but they'll expect us now, we've been in twice, and the only way we were able to get it done, was by using stealth. They'll expect us, and we're just kids. This is a job for aurors, or adults, or people who aren't held together by spit, grit, and hope. Twenty against. We'll keep our eye on that old place though, see if there's a new way in. Next, what are we going to do?"

Tartarus raised her hand, an unexpected display of courtesy from the normally uninhibited girl. "Hear me out, but I think we should get our minds on two things, figuring out how we can survive on a bigger scale, how are we gonna keep everything up when this war gets bad? We should also figure out ways to help hide people, and maybe even try to expand, not the family, but maybe allied forces, you know? And I think we should help Harry."

She paused while there were some eye rolls, sighs, squawks of outrage, snorts of disbelief and raised eyebrows. Once everyone was done with their dramatic reactions, she continued. "You know who is obsessed with Harry, he's tried to kill him a bunch, and I don't know why, but also Dumbledore and all them have been trusting Harry, and I think that Harry has a plan, and that he's got it fixed in his head he's gonna kill you know who. So why not help him? Isn't that our end goal as well? Harry has a head start, and some connections and stuff, and anyways, we'll have to keep looking after Dumbledore for a while longer, so it's not like they'll be willing to leave."

She finished and then paused, then shrugged, and muttered something about it just being an idea, a slight flush creeping onto her cheeks. Draco rolled his eyes, and muttered, "Must everyone cheat on me so?" while giving Tartarus and Pan each their own glares. There were some muttered conversations, and eventually Draco called out the vote. 8 voted to wait and see, 10 voted to help him, and no one actually voted to toss the sod out, but the rest, Draco included, just didn't vote.

It wasn't that Draco wasn't willing to set aside his distrust of Saint Potter to win this stupid war and get it over with, it was that he didn't want to misalign them, set them up for failure. Why in the hell would Voldemort actually care this much about some teenage boy? But it did make some sense, since Potter and his gang were always getting up to things, and being nearly killed, and danger and nonsense.

"Ok. Well. Here's a compromise. We'll tell him we'll help him, but in the meantime, we have to move forwards with our ultimate plan for survival. I think we need allies, and I think we need to make some wicked wards and escape tunnels before we invite anymore civilians into this wretched lair."

* * *

Authors note: I'm anxious to see what people think. I'm trying to slowly flesh out facets of the story I've been leaving up to your imagination. Why hasn't the romantic drama been much of an issue till now? Well, I (and by default, Draco) have been focused on the war, the werewolf thing, the animagus thing (to be discussed in some of the chapters coming up!) and the whole on the run thing. But now that they're slowly becoming more secure, the more human aspects of their lives, the teenager-ish nonsense is soaking back into their lives, because who can help themselves? Alright, I'm going to sleep, then to check on the sheep at 6 am!


	37. Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.

Warnings: Draco gets huffy, but I think its funny.

Authors note: So I won't lie to you, my children, I haven't slept at all in the past 24 hours, it's been really crazy here! But anyhow, I may not have edited as extensively as I should've. So if you notice any edits feel free to help me out! Thank you, and Enjoy!

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

* * *

Draco was laying on his stomach, watching Tartarus and Charon sat side by side on the floor of the library. They were both trying to focus, trying to conjure a mental, calm image of themselves, keeping their brain, no matter what happened. The idea here, was that they would maintain a calm, clear thought, no matter what spell Draco demanded they do.

Becoming an animagus was not nearly as tricky as everyone made it out to be, it used to be more common than dirt, but these days, what with the laziness leading to people gone forever, stuck as non-magical animals, which was the consequence of people who weren't ready for it, weren't gifted enough, or practiced enough, at mapping their own minds. Just like occlumency it had this nasty connotation because of what could go wrong, and it was a bit tricky to control, but it wasn't awfully hard like McGonagall had always made it out to be in school.

Of course, it wasn't exactly easy either, and if these two kept opening their eyes slightly to glare at one another competitively, then they weren't going to get there easily. Pan was sitting in front of them, beside Draco, trying to get them to focus on the feeling of an animal, and separating themselves from their bodies, but maintaining their thoughts.

Nemisis was sitting on Draco's other side snickering at them. She wanted to be an animagus, like all little kids, but she hated focusing, and sitting still, and though some of the students that had ended up here tried to keep learning at least something, Nemisis seemed happy to lounge and watch other learn.

Granger stormed into the library, Weasley and Potter flanking her, though they didn't have the glaring, weird, maternal rage of Granger (though to be fair, it would be odd if they did).

"Seamus says that you guys are learning to be animagi!" Her outraged squawk was directed at Draco, but he just looked up lazily at her. He had almost no desire to respond to her, he was tired, and he was in a good mood, and why ruin that by getting screeched at by a teachers pet.

He met her gaze, but didn't respond, but before things could escalate, Pan intervened. "Yes, we already have actually, just spreading the love." His tone was cool, and the enraged Gryffindor turned her rage to Pan, waving her hands around, launching into a tiresome tirade about focusing on the possible consequences of their actions as opposed to the initial glamor of something or a benefit or a something, who knows.

Draco met Tartarus' eyes then turned his gaze to the sidekicks. Weasley didn't actually look annoyed, he mostly looked bored actually, and was grinning a little apologetically at his sister. And Potter, odd specimen that he was, was looking like a deer in the head lights, eyes wide, frantically looking everywhere but Draco.

When he did glance at Draco, and saw that he was giving him a measured glance, one eyebrow cocked, he blushed, and almost edged a bit behind Granger, like a child behinds its mother.

Draco rolled his eyes at Nemisis who was snorting, clearly having seen the whole exchanged. He turned his attention back to Granger, whose arms were practically flailing, as she wailed about rules, and registries, and probably about how there were whole rule books that she had memorized devoted to exactly how and when to act on the subject of a revolt against a set of clashing tyrants.

Pan was responding along the lines of, risks are rare, there are risks to everything, desperate times and desperate measures, and all that. And the whole while, Potter was acting like an absurd, frightened, angry garden gnome. Granger and Pan were yammering away, bickering, and Draco caught Charon's eye and made a fist, moving his thumb across his jaw line, their universal sign for escape, or retreat. Draco shifted casually, rolling in a casual stretching motion, moving to Grangers peripheral vision. There, he was able to casually lounge for a moment before he stood up smoothly, Charon and Nemisis managing their own retreats, casually. Tartarus shot him a dark, betrayed look. Granger had stepped forwards to put a protective hand on the girls arm.

In his exit, he almost bumped into Potter, who leaped away, a panicked look in his eye, sort of like a panicked rabbit. Draco raised his eyebrow at the dramatic hero, didn't he know that being a Slytherin was not actually contagious, what a titchy little weirdo. "Hero worship finally making you insane?" He quipped casually on his way out, knocking his shoulder hard into the other boys, to make sure that he relayed that he would not back down just because Potter was having some sort of 16th century damsel style in distress panic disorder.

* * *

Draco was still savoring his escape, he, Charon, and Nem had snuck around the mansion back to the supper level of the library, well the top of the stairs where they were observing the heated discussion below, appreciating some requisitioned biscuits.

Prometheus came up the stairs, waving at Potter and Weasley who were still trapped in Grangers aura of rage, and the usually easy going 6th year looked grim. He tossed a rolled up paper at Draco and sat down, reaching for a cracker. Draco unrolled the Prophet, glancing at the clipping.

_'UNREGISTERED CENTAUR FOALS MADE EXAMPLES OF.'_

Draco felt a little sick. The paper had actually printed a photo of two of the foals, a wizard placing a purple sheet over their human halves. Who printed pictures of someone's dead child?

"That's sick," whispered Nem, looking over Draco's shoulder. Prometheus nodded grimly, his jaw line set stubbornly.

"We should go to the centaurs. The ministry is putting absurd restrictions on them, and they aren't happy. Tyche says he got a response on the wireless that centaur uprisings are not long off."

Prometheus' voice was quiet, low and hard, his usually warm eyes cold. Draco nodded slowly, thinking it over. Centaurs were proud, they weren't likely to come help just because. They would have to offer something, and be respectful, it would not be an easy task. But all the same, as the war escalated to murdering children, just because they were born nonhuman, then their own efforts would have to escalate in order to last.

He was lost in his thoughts, and didn't notice Potter's green eye's trained on their group, thoughtful and slightly appalled, and he didn't notice Pan's narrowing eyes either, his thoughts on how to approach centaurs.


	38. When The Buzzard Came

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, I'm just playing!

Warnings: Cursing, a cliff hanger? Some clueless Draco. Thats all!

Authors note: Phew, all the really pregnant sheep have given birth to their babies at this point, so hopefully I'll get some sleep, write some more, post some more, and actually get some editing done. This chapter was NOT heavily edited at all, so if you catch something let me know! Enjoy!

* * *

Draco wriggled as the cold ink dripped along his back slightly, but tried not to let his pumping adrenaline lead to too much wiggling. Hebe glared at him slightly, then went back to writing over the since faded letters across his back. When she was done she blew lightly across his back and he nearly leaped away. It was bloody cold, and the ink was cold, and everything was so cold. He held still, but just barely, almost squawking when she blew to dry the ink a second time.

They were in the kitchen, so that any stray drippage would not get on the bedding, but that just meant that the air was chilled here, without carpet and blankets to hold heat in against the cold stones, which tended to suck warmth from anything they touched.

"Alright, hands, then face."

He grabbed his black t-shirt and pulled it over his head gratefully. It might not be a comforter or fur rug, but at least it was something. He looked up and saw the deer in the headlights expression that was Potters usual face these days in the doorway. "Oh my, we've been found out, my love," Draco said lazily, giving Hebe a tortured look, hand clutching his heart. The stoic girl just snorted and rolled her eyes, waving his hand forwards, dipping her brush in the ink again.

Potter edged into the room as Hebe carefully painted Draco's hands with the oily, thick substance. Squids ink didn't exactly smell aromatic, but it did tend to stain things a nice even black color that allowed for adequate camouflage, especially since there was only so many clothes Draco could put on to try to cover his pale hair, skin, eyes, everything.

Draco watched at the ink oozed across his skin, Hebe was carefully painting up past his wrists incase his shirts sleeves slipped up, and he hardly noticed Potter wallowing by the fireplace until the boy cleared his throat. Draco turned, carefully as to not disturb his dripping hands, and raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Why- what are you doing?" Potter was fidgeting, and looking puzzled, a feeling that Draco was sure was not a rare thing for him. Poor, dense, heroic little Gryffindor.

"Obviously I'm gardening," Draco said calmly, trying to keep the tone of biting sarcasm out of his comment, but his cool tone and facial expression were thrown off by Hebe's laugh. She shook her head at him, reaching forwards, and tipping his head back so she could do his eyes and lips, still chuckling.

"Oh haha, come on. What are you doing?" Draco was saved from having to respond because Hebe was painting around his face, and he knew exactly how disgusting squid ink tasted, he wasn't going to risk that just to see poor Potter sent into an episode of the vapors.

"I'm painting him black. So he won't glow in the dark, pale wretch," said Hebe, affectionately enough, ignoring Draco's noise of outrage at the pale comment, though he was careful not to move, lest her brush find its way into his mouth.

"Why though?"

Hebe just shrugged, and moved to work on Draco's eyelids and any other areas exposed by his mask. Potter was dissatisfied with this answer, and he plopped down onto the bench, giving them a measured look.

"I'm going to go do evil, Potter. Get lost, don't you have a gnome that needs saving or something?" Draco's comment did not have the bite that he would've liked, but he had to be careful not to let his lips move much so that nothing would smear.

Draco wasn't sure, but it was possible that Potter rolled his eyes and dismissed his comment, he had obviously spent too much time around Tart recently. "So how's the love life then?" Draco said conversationally, one eye closed as Hebe painted over it.

Potter spluttered, turned a few shades of pink and purple, and made some odd sounds before telling Draco to mind his own business and fleeing, with a hunted, appalled look in his eyes. Draco and Hebe both laughed as soon as he was gone. Gryffindors tended to respond that way, and Potter was obviously too busy saving the world to do anything other than moon over Change. What a weird little person.

* * *

Draco eased his way down Diagon Alley, sticking to the shadows. If it wasn't light out, to anyone except someone who was intimately familiar with type of canines, he looked just like any other stray. He had to wait for almost an hour before anyone who was slow enough to let him through had made their way through the stone archway, but he wasn't going to risk his human form, not when his options were either look every bit the thief that he was, or look like fugitive Draco Malfoy.

He moved past the thinning crowds, doing his best not to let anyone get too close to him, and keeping to the alleys off the main street. It was cold, too early for any kind of Valentines day rush, beyond the Yule season, and so there weren't that many people around, and Draco managed to get all the way to Ollivander's without any problems. He made his way to the back entrance of the shop, tilting his head up, to look at the living quarters above the slightly shabby shop. There was a light on up there, and try as he might, Draco couldn't hear anything in the lower half of the shop. He made sure there weren't any people in the alley and shifted back to his human form, black clothes, mask, and inked skin making him blend into the shadow that he was lurking in.

He slunk up to the back door, and tapped his wand on the lock, slipping through it, closing it gently as to not make a sound. He froze, waiting, holding his breath, listening for any sounds. He heard some footsteps upstairs, some rummaging, but nothing down on this floor. He eased along the narrow hall towards the shop, trying to distribute his weight lightly, so that the creaky boards would stay silent.

He eased his rucksack off his shoulders, and began to silently put all the wands in their boxes into it, as fast as he could. He froze, hearing a creak, he didn't hear footsteps, but he slung the rucksack over his shoulders nonetheless, and eased back, away from the back entrance to the shop.

He heard another creak, and cursed under his breath, moving quietly, but quickly towards a window, and fidgeting with it. It was obviously painted shut, not having been opened in sometime, and not a viable option for escape. Draco cursed mentally and moved back from it, deciding on plan b. He ducked low, breathing as quietly as he could, hiding between two tall shelves, hoping their tall shadows hid him against whoever was doing an awful job of sneaking around.

Draco stayed crouched for what he felt an eternity before he eased forwards, staying low to the ground, hoping that his stiff knees wouldn't pop at the movement. He peered around cautiously, and saw nobody. He was going to just have to get out as fast as he could, and hope that the old wandmaker didn't notice anything was gone. He slunk back along the hall, and out the door, and as soon as he was covered by the shadows of the alley, he shifted, feeling safer as a hyena than as wizard, no matter how armed he was at the moment.

He edged back along the alley, trying to shake the feeling that someone was following him. He decided not to chance moving back into muggle London, and slipped behind Flourish and Blotts, and shifted, apparating as soon as he could.

He spun momentarily, before he felt himself jerk to the ground in the woods outside the manor. He had apparated too quickly, he was slightly disoriented, and he'd landed away from any gate. He sighed and shifted back into a hyena, padding along the perimeter. With Perses help, they'd managed to seal the main gates, and now only a small servants entrance remained, on the side of the manors tall walls. He was moving swiftly when he suddenly smelled something familiar on the cool winter wind. Something stiff, eerily sweet, and slightly smoky. He felt his hackles rise against his will, teeth bared instinctively.

He lay low, belly to the ground, and waited, ears pricked, listening hard. He heard foot steps through the forests underbrush, and took a deep breath to still the snarl that originated deep in his chest. A familiar pale head of hair neared, catching the moonlight.

Before Draco could react, his father whipped out his wand, and yelled out a spell Draco didn't recognize. He rolled, to try to avoid it, but the light hit him, and he felt his body wrenched, forced out of if form, back into his human form, painfully. He yelped, feeling as though all his bones broke for a moment, before scrambling to try to get to his feet.

His father picked him up, pinning him to a tree by way of a hand wrapped around Draco's throat. Draco struggled, but his eating habits had gone down the tubes lately, and he had his mothers slighter frame, as opposed to his fathers sleeker more muscular body type.

Draco gripped his fathers wrist with both hands, holding himself up, trying to keep his airway clear. He felt a fury at seeing his fathers face so close to his own.

"I should've known you'd come back here, coward, sealing the wards of my own house against me," his father spat, tightening his grip. Draco sneered, and kept his fear off his face, though his stomach was clenching in terror. In a moment he would be dead, and then his father would break the wards somehow, find everyone, kill them, something terrible no doubt.

"You're a disgrace to my name, boy, a waste of a son. You could've been a powerful asset to me, could have brought such power to our name." His father sounded calm and cold, his dark grey eyes calm, and slightly disappointed, as he casually choked his only son.

Draco struggled, pulling himself up enough to spit into his fathers face as hard as he could. He was dropped, a snarl of fury from his father as the man wiped his eye. Draco scrambled to his feet, pulling his wand out, stifling the urge to cough. His father laughed cruelly, dodging Draco's stunner, and didn't even bother with a spell, shoving Draco to the ground, kicking him in the ribs, hard, several times. Draco felt his head crack back against the tree he'd been pinned against, and steeled himself, letting the rage coiling deep in his belly at actually seeing his father, so cold, and uncaring spring free. He felt himself drawn in dangerously into his were form, knowing that with this much emotion running loose he wouldn't be in ultimate control, but at the same time, he didn't give a damn.

He lunged forwards, teeth bared, snapping at his father, hard. His father cried out, as Draco's jaws closed around his wand hand, snapping either the wand, a bone, or some of both under his powerful grip. Draco moved back, then crouched, springing, his powerful hind end moving him forwards, slamming his full force into his fathers shoulders, sending him reeling. He moved forwards, picking his father up by the collar of his robes, and the flung him across the clearing, the taste of blood clouding his control.

He licked his lips, feeling a deep, feral need in his gut light on fire. He needed to feel the crunch of that man, that wicked man beneath his teeth, and he didn't care if he got killed to get that. The grief he'd felt when his mother died, how could that not be written across his dad's face? He snarled, moving forwards, teeth bared, eyes narrowed aggressively, and he didn't even slow down when he felt something grab him around the middle. He struggled forwards, and when he felt something wrap around his neck, he turned his gaze, eyes narrowed, vision beginning to blur as the bloodlust threatened to take over.

The sight that he saw startled him out of his rage. It was Potter, talking fast, but Draco couldn't be bothered to listen. He frowned, and sighed, closing his eyes and shifting back. He would have to tell Potter to fuck off and leave him to deal with daddy dearest, and he had a feeling that it would take Draco shouting to get the message across.

The moment he was a human, Potter sprang away as if Draco might be contagious. "Are you fucking insane? Grabbing a werewolf? Really?" Draco snapped, rolling his eyes at Potter.

Potter opened his mouth to say something, but Draco interrupted, not feeling charitable, or polite at the moment, "Look Potter, can you kindly go fuck yourself? I am sort of in the middle of something, and I don't need your help."

Potter scowled, "No, don't kill your dad, Malfoy."

"Are you dense? He's going to get us all killed, if not kill us all himself. He knows I have people in there, do you really think he'll just keep that to himself? No he's going to go tell his Dark Powerful Lord, and we are all going to die."

"No, he won't kill you, you're his son," Potter said, sounding determined, that tiresome expression of moral righteousness pasted across his face.

"He killed my mum, why the hell would he spare me?"

Draco tried to shove past Potter, who knew how long his dad would stay knocked out, head bleeding over the rock that Draco had flung him into. Potter grabbed Draco's arm, gripping tightly, his mouth set in a mulish expression.

Draco glared at him, hard, sneering at his old enemy, trying to drag the other boy closer to his father, where he could just kill him while Potter clutched away at his arm.

"Fine, I won't kill him, just let go," Draco snapped, suddenly, his head spinning from being hit. He was tired, and he hated this stupid tenacious hold on the morals of the world that Potter had. The Gryffindor gave him a long look, but finally loosened his grip, then let go. Draco moved closer to his father, drew his wand, took a deep breath, and muttered, "Obliviate." He maintained the spell as long as he could, watching his fathers tight face slump into a numb, vacant expression. Draco crouched beside him, hesitated for a moment, then dipped his finger in his fathers blood, and drew a C across his fathers cheek.

He slowly rose, then turned on his heel, and stormed along the manor's wall, Potter almost bounding along to keep up. Draco was in a god awful mood now. He felt sick, he couldn't believe he had been so set on actually murdering his father, he was worse than his dad, willing to murder his own family. But at the same time, he was so angry that stupid Potter had intervened, hadn't let him just kill his father and get it over with, get rid of him, and get rid of all that he expected from Draco. And he was angry at Potter for seeing him so out of control, and angry at Potter for in general existing, and always ruining everything.

Then, he stopped suddenly, and spun, as Potter nearly tripped, coming to a halt behind him. "What the hell were you even doing out here?" Draco snapped, his eyes narrowing on Potter. Was he a polyjuiced death eater? It was very unlikely, how would a death eater get a hold of Potters hair, but there was a chance.

Potter looked shifty and shrugged, but when Draco's glare hardened, showing no signs of backing down, he eventually responded, "Well, you were going out alone, you guys don't usually, you know, do that, so, I sort of followed you, and err, you know, just wanted to get your back, you know, so that, because, well I didn't want Ginny to be upset, or anything."

Draco deadpanned at Potter, resisting the urge to kill him. Do not kill the boy hero, he reminded himself. He just shook his head, not trusting himself to say anything, or do anything except walk away lest he actually murder Potter on the spot. He was also convinced, that weird spluttering, wide eyed mumbling that Potter did probably couldn't be faked, if he was a death eater in disguise, the death eater had at least done his homework.

He stormed into the manor, throwing his rucksack full of wands at Pan, who was sitting in the library reading, and stalked into the Lair, burrowing under his covers. He had no idea where the hell Potter had disappeared off to, but he was glad the idiot was gone. He pulled his mask off, and burrowed under the covers, curling around his sore body, not caring how dirty he was for once. He wasn't sure why he felt sick to his stomach, or like crying, but he refused to do either, and as the heat in the warm room and sounds of others sleeping lulled him into sleep slowly, he decided, right as he drifted off to sleep, that he might hate Potter, but maybe the idiot didn't deserve to die either.


	39. With Fear And Courage And Rage

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.

Warning: Just moving my story along, possibly some cursing.

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

* * *

By way of silent, and mutual agreement, Draco's father showing was not discussed. Draco wasn't sure if it was because Potter understood, or if he didn't particularly care, or if it was because he seemed terrified of Draco. Draco had thought it might've had something to do with being a werewolf, but when he was a wolf in the woods, Potter had had no qualms about grabbing him.

Draco snapped back to the moment, and nodded to Tartarus, to show that he was paying attention. She smiled, drew herself up, closed her eyes, and focusing hard muttered the incantation. She began to grow, and Draco watched with interest as her limbs lengthened, her skin turned to fur, and before long, stood a large reddish pony, with white speckles across its body, a brown red mane and tail swishing behind her.

Draco smiled, rolling his eyes as she tossed her head. "Good job, Tart, now we can give someone a pony ride."

She pinned her ears at him, baring his teeth for a moment, before turning, snorting and bolting across the manors lawn, throwing bucks and kicks of joy in every now and then. Draco laughed, and turned to go back inside, after all, it was still a British winter, and the cold air was biting at him.

He moved into the kitchen, sitting next to Pan, shoving a cold, sock clad foot beneath the other boys leg. Pan looked up and rolled his eyes, but continued calmly leafing through his newspaper. Draco's eyes were drawn to another article about centaur uprisings, and he didn't hear whatever Leto said as she burst in.

"What, sorry?" Draco said looking up, rubbing his tired eyes, and focusing on her.

"I said, the old man's awake."

Draco shrugged, and said, "Then go tell Potter, I don't want anything to do with him."

Leto gave him a look, but turned and moved towards the part of the manor where the others had taken up residence. Leto had an unwavering respect for human life, and while she pointedly ignored anytime someone that had to die did die, she was more content playing nursemaid and potions keeper than she was to actually do the killing, no matter how much she might approve of the elimination of a death eater.

Pan put down his paper, staring into the fire for a moment. "What are we going to do with him?"

Draco shrugged, his fingers tracing the rough wood grain on the table, and eventually, he answered, "I guess we'll have to surrender him to someone, my cousin, maybe."

Pan nodded, but didn't pick up his paper again, turning to survey Draco. "We need to get on this, before they become blinded by their rage," he said quietly, gesturing vaguely at the newspaper. Draco nodded slowly, an idea blossoming in his head.

"We need to get the old man out of here, before we start. Our only saving grace going in is that we're all children in their eyes. We need to get him out of here before we bring anyone back."

Pan nodded slowly, his dark brown eyes meeting Draco's pale grey ones squarely. Draco held the gaze strongly, though both boys were human, the eye contact was distinctly canine, and when Pan blinked, and looked away, if he'd had ears, they'd be to the side, in submission. Draco accepted it, and turned back to the fire for a moment.

"I'll go. With Tart and Hecate, we'll move faster just the three of us. I know of 4 herds, so it could take us up to a month, but hopefully we won't come back alone. I'll send word about how many to expect, but you need to get the old man out, to my cousin before we get back."

Pan's eyes flashed with an emotion, but it was gone too quickly for Draco to interpret it. The dark haired boy just shrugged, turning away to face the warmth of the fire again. Draco stayed there for a long moment, trying to interpret what was going on, but his tired mind was nearly numb, and he couldn't come up with anything that seemed relevant.

He got up, squeezing his best friends shoulder, but Pan didn't seem to notice, eyes caught up in the flames hypnotic twist.

* * *

Draco scrubbed hard, enjoying the warm water that he didn't know when he would next be able to enjoy. Warm water was soothing as it hit him, and he needed a moment to think where he didn't have to worry about what his facial expressions might make others think.

He felt bad, moving the old man so soon after he woke, but he couldn't afford to keep him, and anyways, the man would be more trouble than he was worth. For that matter, Potter was more trouble than he was worth, but he wouldn't cause the centaurs to distrust them like Dumbledore would. Draco sighed, leaning back against the steam warmed marble wall, letting the water run over him, soothing his aching muscles. He knew they would have to kick Potter and his trio out soon enough, but at the same time, he refused to do it just out of fear that they'd be found harboring them. He refused to do anything else in his life for fear of Lord Voldemort.

He turned off the water decidedly, wrapping a towel around himself before trotting out, down the hall, through the tapestry hole, and over to where he kept his things. He pulled on pants, black muggle denim trousers, and a newly stolen off a clothes line black shirt. It was slightly too large for him, but the air space in the garment was good for trapping heat.

He rifled through his rucksack, pulling out the wands, dumping all but 4 on Pan's bed, a silent peace offering, and only keeping a sweater, a spare mask, a black handkerchief, his belt kit, with its knives and little stoppers of dittany, and of course the cloth bag filled with odds and ends that Perses, Styx and Aether had turned into blood activated Portkeys to one of the cellars.

Draco got up, and moved through the hall back towards the entrance hall. He glanced up at the walls, scorched remains of portraits and run down, dust covered tapestries that reminded him of a broken version of his childhood memories. He sat on the cold marble steps, leaning against the banister, looking up at the ceiling. It was black, covered in soot from when the towers had burned, and even though he was almost used to it, it still felt like a knife twisting in his gut when his thoughts strayed to his mother.

Before long Hecate came out and looked around, before spotting Draco, and padded over, sitting quietly, one step down. Draco nodded silently in greeting, then the two boys sat quietly, waiting the last. This felt different, usually when leaving for missions Draco felt adrenaline coursing through his veins, but the fact that he wouldn't be back for a while, made him feel a little sick with worry and fear.

Voices drifted towards them from the hall, behind the steps, out of sight. Three voices, angry, carrying through the echoing, deserted hall. Tart, Weasley and Potter. Tart was being quiet, mostly just telling the others to stop, to go away, but Weasley had a lot to say.

"You can't just go off, Gin you're only a kid. You can't tell me where you're going, won't tell me with who, won't tell me why, and I'm your own brother. You're 15, what am I going to tell mum if you get killed?"

His rage was cut short by Potter interjecting, "Ron, she won't die, right? It's not that kind of thing?"

His heroic concern made Draco want to vomit, but just then the three rounded the corner, coming into sight, and Draco decided vomiting would show weakness, so he thought better of it, and just silently rose. He took two steps down, as Hecate rose, but stayed put, flanking Draco.

Tart looked up, and smiled a small smile at them, nodding slightly. Potter and Weasley were both making outraged noises, but if Tart wanted to ignore them, Draco would follow her lead, they were _her_ Gryffindors after all.

"Malfoy! You can't let her leave, she won't be safe! You have to tell us where you're taking them," Weasley moved to block Draco's path off the stairs. Draco stopped, surveyed him coolly for a moment, then shrugged, and just raised one eye brow, in silent ridicule of this mother hen act Weasley was putting on.

"Come on, Malfoy, they're just kids!" Potter looked scandalized, his brow furrowed. Draco looked past him, meeting Tart's eyes. She just shrugged, obviously irritated by the two boy's outrage.

"We're all just kids," he said simply, moving past Weasley who just spluttered in outrage, and grabbed his arm.

"Take me instead!"

"Let go of me. You'd be of absolutely no use to me, in fact, you'd likely be a hindrance. I need Tartarus, and you need to let her decide what she fights for, and when she fights for it, and you really need to let go of me before my self control snaps and I gut you like a fish," Draco snapped, jerking his arm hard, until Weasley let go. Tart's cheeks were slightly flushed, and Hecate took the two Gryffindors surprise as an opportune moment to slip past them, and the three of them turned and walked through the door way, leaving one Gryffindor spluttering, his face an off reddish purple, the other looking like Draco had just stolen his number one fan away, or kicked a puppy or something.


	40. A Rogue, A Rebel, And A Dissident Devil

Disclaimer: I merely own my thoughts! The rest is JKR's!

Warnings: ho hum, not a lot, if anything?

Authors note: There was some researching on the Lexicon, but if I missed anything or am not portraying things well, I'd be interested in hearing your thoughts. Also I probably should have edited a little more heavily, so if you catch anything, let me know! Thanks, Enjoy! Oh also, since there are only 3 code names in this one, and one is Draco, I'm not including the full blown list, but Tartarus is Ginny Weasley and Hecate is Malcolm Baddock.

* * *

To an outsider it probably looked ridiculous, but they were assuming no one was looking closely at what wild animals were doing at night. A raccoon was clinging to a hyena's scruff as it loped along side a red roan pony, who seemed awfully comfortable around the large predator beside her.

They'd been traveling for three days, moving the moment the sun went down and going as far as they could before either the sun rose again, or exhaustion set in. Their first stop was a herd up in the midlands of the country, one of the largest herds that they could find record of.

Draco loped along easily, glad that his hyena's endurance was far more impressive than his human form could ever hope to achieve. He had a lot of time to think as they moved, but he hadn't had any success in controlling his nerves yet. He knew this was dangerous, and probably stupid, but he didn't know which humans to trust, and which to hate right now.

Centaurs were proud, long lived, and revered children's innocence above all else, but the ministry was making a huge mistake thinking that they would take these offences quietly. If Draco could only figure out how to make their similar desired ends yield a cohesive force, he could maybe just maybe really impact this, thing. Not quite a war yet, as Voldemort was hiding behind the ministry, playing them like his little puppets. He knew that centaurs also didn't believe in meddling in the affairs of men, but if the affairs were murdering their children, surely some meddling was necessary?

* * *

Tart nudged Draco awake, the three of them had slept under a small rocky over hang, beside a creek, curled together, too wary of attracting attention to light a fire, and too weary to set up the intricate spells that might allow for a powerful enough ward to conceal the flames. He stretched, blinking up at the reddish sky. Tart could shift and graze, it was time for Draco to hunt, then bring his left overs back for Hecate to shift into and eat. He gently removed the smaller boy's head from his side, letting him sleep on, and nodded to Tart, rising and shifting. He was bone weary in any form at this point, but they were getting close, all of them could smell it on the wind. A sweet, dusty, scent that was somewhere between herbs, horses, and magic.

He moved along, eventually catching a fat hare, carrying it back to the rocky outcropping, tearing off a leg for Hecate, before laying to tear the small animals body into delicious shreds. Hecate blinked himself awake, looking a little sick at seeing Draco tear into a rabbit as his first waking sight, but quietly shifted and began pulling strands of muscle from the leg, neatly and meticulously polishing off his breakfast.

They hadn't done an overwhelming amount of talking since the first night, where they'd discussed a plan, gone over the dangers, and how daunting their task was, since then just the occasional joke, but the serious nature of this task compared to their rowdy previous missions hung over them, and in the end they were too tired to joke much, and too worried to bicker much either.

Tart eased herself down onto her front knees, nickering softly to Hecate, who abandoned grooming himself to climb up, careful to only grip her thick, reddish mane with his claws, and not the thinner skin across her back. When she straightened up, and Hecate appeared to be safely clinging to her back, Draco nodded to them, and began to move north, his nose down close to the ground, following the sweet, rich, magical scent of their targets.

* * *

Draco stopped, his ears pricked, lashing his tail in warning to the others. Tart halted, Hecate peering curiously around her head. He could hear hoof beats, other than Tart's. He shifted, signaling to the other. Hecate leapt down from his perch, shifting once his feet touched the ground, Tart shifting as soon as he leaped off of her.

The three stood still, hearing the hoof beats approach. They were unmasked, Draco didn't want them to seem threatening, and wanted to make it clear that they were young, hoping this meant the Centaurs might not immediately hurt them. Draco squared his shoulders, chin raised up confidently hoping that his nerves didn't show.

Over the crest of a hill came a group of six male centaurs. The one in the lead was a fair skinned, brown furred centaur with a thick jagged scar slicing down the center of his chest. He stopped, a few feet from Draco, his companions coming to a stop behind him.

"What are you doing in our forest, werewolf?" His voice was deep, melodious, and hypnotic almost. Draco swallowed nervously and had to take a steadying breath before answering.

"We've come for your help."

One of the other centaurs, a grey bodied horse, with black hair and a black tail snorted rolling his eyes in clear mockery of Draco. Draco didn't mind being mocked, at least not when one of the other strong possibilities was being shot through with an arrow.

Their leader looked amused for a moment, but just nodded, clearly waiting for Draco to go one.

"I'm- I'm called Chaos. I've been sheltering all the children, that I can find from, you- Voldemort, and the ministry. But I need help, and I know we've no right to ask, beg really, but we were hoping to come up with some kind of treaty or trade, we could protect your foals in our wards, with your help, if you were to help us get more of own and maintain the wards."

The words tumbled out in a rather less graceful than he would've hoped breath, but there, he hadn't been offensive or anything, and he'd been about as humble as he knew how. The centaurs were all watching him, their high cheek boned faces hard to read, and stoic. He saw the anger flash through a few sets of less guarded eyes when he mentioned the foals, and tried not to look terrified. These centaurs were huge, much larger than Draco had expected, and they looked as if they could fight him easily, in any form, singlehandedly, every one of them.

"We do not participate in the affairs of men," the fair skinned leader said finally, his deep voice even.

"We aren't men," offered Tart quietly, pausing before continuing, her voice wavering, but determined, "We're just children, all of us."

The centaur just shook his head slowly, but as he turned, Draco couldn't help it, he spoke up again, danger be damned. "Come on. We have the same goal, we can't live under these regulations. I'm a werewolf, my fugitives are either condemned by their families for not believing murder is right, or condemned for being born to the wrong parents. We just want to live out this stupid war, but we need help, and we can't trust people. We need your help, and we can hide your foals with our own brothers and sisters, we can all just fight against the killing of innocents just because they happened to be born or made in a way not approved by some stupid minister, or some stupid Wizard."

Their eyes all flashed, but before any response could be offered, Draco shot his ego in the face, and begged. "Please? Please just- At least consider it? We can wait, we'll wait here, but we need help or we won't make it, and it isn't our fault, it isn't our fight."

Draco met the pale brown eyes of the leader squarely, his own stormy eyes determined. He knew that someone, some centaur somewhere would have to agree to this, who wouldn't try to at least consider all the options?

The tall, pale centaur held his gaze, his deep eyes feeling like they were reading every facet of Draco's very soul, his reserved face slightly taut, and the gaze felt as though it burned through Draco's core for an eon, before he broke the gaze, and the lead centaur merely nodded slightly.

"Then wait."

And with that, they all turned as one, their even tempo-ed hooves carrying them away.

"God, what a cryptic species. Can't they just say yes or no?" Tart said sulkily, but a smile was across her freckled face. Draco smiled, and then laughed, feeling slightly elated now that his nerves were temporarily eased.

Hecate gave them a weak smile, adding, "At least we aren't dead, though."


	41. Ready for retaliation

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine!

Warnings: None (I think, I don't know).

Authors note: Edits, comments, appreciation, comments, concerns, and comments all welcome. This ones short and sweet, enjoy!

* * *

Harry paced angrily in the entrance hall. He was getting really fed up with all this secrecy. Sure it was probably all good and well, and working well for Malfoy and his stupid gang, but Harry hated being out of it, and now Ginny had been gone for almost three hours, and no one was telling them anything. Harry kicked at a dust bunny bitterly, cursing himself for not following Malfoy under the cloak like he had last time. He wouldn't really know where to go this time though, he hadn't been lurking anywhere where they'd talked about whatever they were off doing this time.

He was still pacing angrily, deciding in what order to kill Malfoy, his cronies, and Ginny for making him worry this much when Hermione nearly gave him a heart attack by materializing out of nowhere, saying his name.

"What?! Jeez, Hermione, don't jump out at people like that," he snapped.

She shook her head slightly at him, "Harry I've been calling your name for 5 minutes, you were just zoned out, as usual. But come on! Professor Dumbledore is awake!"

Her excitement was tangible, and Harry smiled broadly, forgetting about Stupid Ginny and Stupid Malfoy and how they'd run off. He followed her down to the infirmary room, his smile stuck on his face, and widening when he saw Dumbledore sitting up, looking a little frail, but alive.

"Hey professor!" Said Hermione brightly, rushing to his side. Harry went over to the other side, but before he could say anything, a masked Zabini came in. He gestured to Harry, and Harry glared slightly, and gave Dumbledore the biggest smile he could manage before getting back up and walking over to Zabini.

"We need him to be moved, to a safe place that isn't here, as soon as possible, now that he's getting better." Zabini's voice was quiet, but firm, and Harry wished it was Malfoy's snide, bitter voice telling him, so he could have something to hate.

"No way, he just woke up, we can't move him!"

"Potter, there is no we. I need him gone, before he messes anything up, and gets anybody killed."

Harry glared at Zabini. "He can't kill anyone, and he wouldn't or are you forgetting he was the headmaster of our school? If he wanted to kill you lot, he would've done it a hell of a long time ago," Harry snarled, through gritted teeth.

"He need's to get out of here before Chaos, and your little Tart come home, or he could get us all screwed over. Potter, I'm not being obnoxious here, he needs a real medic anyways, we can't fix him."

Chaos was a stupid code name for Malfoy. Malfoy was always so prim, and neat, not chaotic, and cool and collected, and it didn't make much sense, but then again, not a lot of the code names that Harry had worked out made much sense they were just words, stupid words. He wanted to tell Zabini that they were just stupid kids, using stupid code names, and to butt the hell out of his war, but he bit his tongue.

"And what about me? Should I just bugger off too?" He said, managing, just barely to keep his voice quiet.

"That's not up to me. But we're going to be sending him off at noon, so say your goodbyes, or go with him, but until Chaos says you're out, I can't kick you out, no matter how badly I would like to. So tell the old man to pack his bags, Potter," Zabini snapped, his voice crueler than before. Harry balked for a moment, he'd clearly hit a nerve at some point, but before he could say anything, the Slytherin turned on his heel and stormed out of the room. Harry was attempting to squash a weird sense of gratitude towards Malfoy for letting him stay here, as much as he hated being out of the loop, he had to admit it was better than alone, in the cottage on the sea, even further out of the loop. And he had a weird clenching feeling that was still ensnaring his chest, that had begun the moment Zabini had mentioned Malfoy and Ginny getting killed. He sighed, and turned to his old professor to relay the news, feeling like he was choosing between his mentor and his friends, Ginny that is, Malfoy was a twit.


	42. Oblivious as ever

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Warnings: Gossip, comic relief.

* * *

A week later, Harry was still at the old Malfoy Manor, though he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't sure if he belonged here. It had been quiet, but that was only because Harry wasn't allowed to go anywhere interesting, and ever since Hermione and Dumbledore's lengthy conversation about weird and scary magic, Hermione had been holed up in the library, and if she handed one more book to Harry he might actually kill her. Seamus was busy, Ginny was still gone, and Ron was always either convincing Hermione to eat food, or cursing Malfoy's name for as he put it, abducting his sister with his wiles.

Dumbledore had said that Voldemort had, back in the day, in the first war, broken up his soul, sticking it in several artifacts so that he could be almost immortal, but his soul was really broken up, so he wasn't really a person anymore, he couldn't do it anymore without risking going insane (though Harry was pretty sure the man was already insane). That was how he had come back as Riddles diary, and in Quirrel's body, and one soul chunk had been what he'd been made out of in the graveyard in fourth year. Dumbledore was sure that it was 7 soul bits that he had split himself into, and since two were gone, and he was using one, that left four to find.

The bits of soul were called Horcruxes, but everytime Hermione said it Ron burst into very unmanly giggles, since hor sounded like whore, and there was a lot of Voldemort soul to go around. And that made Harry laugh, so he usually tried to avoid thinking about how funny it was around Hermione, who was in a studying frenzy.

Harry probably should have been more horrified, and upset, but to be fair, almost nothing Voldemort did these days surprised him, the man was obviously unhinged, everyone knew that. And now that they were looking for four things to destroy, it made him feel like he had a purpose, something to do. He had a goal. Get four items, defeat Voldemort, figure out what the hell was Malfoy's plan.

He sighed, finally deciding that he had probably been hiding from Hermione for long enough, he'd have to go back to the library soon enough. He moved along the empty hallway on an upper level, in the direction of what he suspected the library was in. He paused at a window, looking down on the grey, grim day outside. He was surprised to see a rather alarming amount of foot prints patterned on the snow, between the Manor and the woods, and along the grounds edged. What was Zabini have them do? Form some sort of wizarding rebel marching band? Harry snorted at his own thoughts, and shook off the curiosity that he was getting used to feeling eat away at him. He continued on towards the library, and sighed, bracing himself, before entering, descending the mahogany staircase, and sitting at a table, next to Hermione.

He pulled out the first book on a pile, and looked sadly at the title, _Everything You Need To Know About Tracking Anything And More_, trying not to let his feelings show, lest Hermione get into another one of her rants about how important it was they find all the soul chunks and kill them or burn them or whatever it was one did with soul chunks anyhow.

He opened the book and let his eyes glaze over as he began to read, feeling a familiar cramping sensation in his head begin to grow.

* * *

"Hermione, how can we just sit here and read while Malfoy is out, getting up to evil things with my sister?" Ron's sudden outburst was nothing exactly new, he had been having random outbursts all day. Cooped up in the library, and probably allergic to learning and confinement, he had started announcing things at random.

"Oh honestly, Ron. First off, Ginny isn't Malfoy's type he likes his girls evil, and his boys tall dark and handsome. And secondly Malfoy isn't Ginny's type. And lastly, he is not up to evil, we talked about this. He might not be a law abiding citizen, and at best he's morally grey, but he isn't up to evil he saved Professor Dumbledore, and he's letting us stay here. And lastly, I'm trying to help Harry defeat you know who here, and your outbursts are getting a little ridiculous. Maybe you should go outside and hit a tree with a stick, or whatever it is you boys do to unwind."

Her voice was offended, she was obviously a little sick of no one taking the library as seriously as she did. Ron was waving his arms around, trying to convince Hermione about Malfoy's evil, but Harry couldn't hear him because he was busy having a fit. Malfoy liked what now?

Hermione mistook Harry having a heart attack as he too succumbing to boy in the library disease and glared, rising, and ushering them both out, into the kitchen, glaring and hissing something about not coming back until they were ready to help, and disappointment, and Malfoy liked WHAT?

Harry followed Ron outside, though he was feeling a little sick to his stomach from lack of oxygen. Ron burst into a run, slipping in the snow, and falling backwards, letting himself fall, yelling something about books that echoed across the landscape. The snow was a few days old, and though it was pretty pristine in some places, it had the slightly grey look of snow that had been around a few days too long.

"Ron, did you know Malfoy fancied boys?" Harry asked, plopping down next to his friend, ignoring the chills that sitting in snow sent through him.

"Err, yeah, everyone does, he and that Ravenclaw bloke had a big nasty break up in the great hall," said Ron, looking confused.

"Where was I?" Harry couldn't shake the feeling that sometimes things happned at Hogwarts when he wasn't looking. For heavens sakes, you would think he would have noticed something like a loud break up.

"I don't know, mate, maybe saving the world? He dated Parkinson before and after that, Lavender was all titchy about it, because of how she hates Parkinson, don't you remember? And then when Zabini shagged that Ravenclaw, him and Malfoy got in a fight and were suspended from quidditch, remember?"

"I thought he was just playing hooky! Off doing evil things!" Harry spluttered, feeling put on.

"Harry, you can't just skip quidditch matches because you have to sit around the dungeons combing your hair, he was suspended last year. Next you'll be telling me you didn't know Ginny and Dean were dating, or that Sloper snogged both Carrow's last year!"

"Is there some kind of newsletter I am just not signed up for?!" Harry demanded. "Ginny is doing what now? And the two Death Eaters are snogging who?"

"Harry, Sloper is on the quidditch team. Our quidditch team. And the Carrow twins are Slytherins, and they're here actually, in Malfoy's weird little masked bandit outfit, and Ginny and Dean have been going out on and off for about half a year now." Ron looked a little concerned about Harry, but mostly amused.

Harry just flopped back dramatically, throwing himself on the snow. "I don't even know all these people," he said sounding wounded. Ron laughed, shaking his head, "It's alright, you've been busy saving the world and things."

Harry sulked, still feeling as though someone really should tell him when things like this happened, what if he had made a fool of himself. Well, alright, made more of a fool of himself?


	43. I won't go down by myself

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Warnings: violence.

* * *

The next day, before Harry could come up with a way to make his obliviousness look a little less like he was just wandering around with his head in the clouds, everything got a little weird. Malfoy had been gone ten days, and Ron had taken to pacing, mumbling threats while Harry, Dean, Seamus or Neville babysat him. Seamus and Harry were sitting on some stairs, to some kind of dungeon (of course Malfoy would have extensive dungeons in his house, probably so he could practice lurking), watching Ron, who was glaring at a suit of armor, muttering about how his mum would take Ginny's imminent death.

Further down the dungeon there was a scream, echoing suddenly sharp, and Seamus and Harry leapt to their feet. Alarmingly though, Seamus grabbed Harry's arm, and Ron's and tried to drag them up the stairs, away from the racket. Harry wrenched out of Seamus' grasp, bolting down the hallway. He rounded a corner, but before he could progress any further, the younger Slytherin that had gone with Malfoy and Ginny nearly ran him down. He had Ginny hoisted over her shoulder, her face pale, but eyes open. The Slytherin glared at Harry, but Ginny looked relieved, and flailed an arm down towards an open door, but when she opened her mouth to talk, she started to cough instead. The Slytherin held on to her more firmly, and shooting Harry one last glare kept plowing down the hall, hopefully towards some kind of medical attention.

Harry sprinted into the room, and skidded to a halt by the crumpled body in the middle. Malfoy was laying still, gasping for breath, the shaft of an arrow hanging out of his chest. His lips were red with blood, and his shirt was a tattered mess, his back leaking blood all over the dusty floor. Before Harry had time to react, someone shoved him out of the way, scooping Malfoy up.

"Where's help?" The high, elegant voice came from a thin, palomino centaur, who had lifted Malfoy up easily, as if he was a rag doll. Her high cheekbones and narrowed features looked angelic with her white blond hair, and Harry just turned, moving out the door, everything sort of blurry. He could hear a weird sound as she followed, and when he ran up the stairs, she set her jaw, and scrambled up them, slipping and jumping her way up the human sized stairs sort of awkwardly, still holding Malfoy like a dead toddler in her arms. Harry led her to the make shift infirmary, where Ginny lay, deposited on one of the mattresses. She was propped up on an elbow, and looked a little nauseated, but much better off than Malfoy, though she paled visibly as soon as she saw Malfoy.

The centaur laid Malfoy down next to Ginny, gently, and Ginny mumbled thanks. The centaur nodded, and said, her voice still foreign, exotic, and hypnotic, "I'll fetch the other two."

Ginny nodded again, but before the centaur had been gone more than a moment, before Harry had a chance to ask what had happened, the Slytherin boy came in, Mandy and two younger girls that helped her sometimes hot on his heels, and behind them, Dean, and Ron.

There was some mumbling, but Ginny was moved to another bed, and a small Ravenclaw that Harry vaguely recognized began shoving potions down her throat, while Ron and Dean watched in concern. Harry knew he should be by that bedside, but instead, he was drawn to Malfoy's, where Mandy had ripped his shirt off, and barked at the other girl, a Hufflepuff, Harry thought, who ran out, face looking a bit grim. Mandy gritted her teeth, and pulled out the arrow shaft from low on Malfoy's chest. She pressed a wad of cloth to it, looking around wildly, her eyes settling on Harry.

"Come here, push this, hard against his chest, we can't let him lose anymore blood."

Harry nodded, mutely, moving forwards, pressing the cloth against Malfoy's ribs, hard as he could. Up close, Malfoy looked even more pale than Harry remembered, his lips ashen and grey where they weren't stained by blood. He looked like a thin, grungy shadow of Harry's old school rival, and the weird shuddering sounds as he tried to breath made Harry feel sick to his stomach.

Mandy rushed back, unstopping a tiny vial, moving Harry to the side, pulling off the compress, and dumping the clear liquid into the sickening puncture wound before too much blood could bubble out. She covered it again, and struggled to flip Malfoy over, "Here, Harry, hold him upright, so I can see his back, but hold this over his chest ok?"

Harry eased the unconscious boy up, stifling whatever twisted deep in his chest when Malfoy's head lolled to the side, like a pathetic, broken doll of some kind. His back was covered in proud flesh, risen, angry, raw, covered in sticky blood and grime from the cellar floor and wherever they'd come from. Mandy cursed, and got up, running out of the room, returning moments later with a thick orange paste and a bucket. She grabbed another cloth, wringing water on Malfoy's mangled back over and over again, and Malfoy groaned softly, still unconscious, his body stiffening instinctively from pain. Mandy ignored him, and kept industriously cleaning until she was pleased, and then slathered the orange paste over his whole back, liberally.

"Lay him on his stomach, give his back a chance to rest, hold on a moment and I'll get a bandage for his chest."

Once she'd wrapped his chest up in what felt like miles of gauze , she nodded, looking a bit tired, and Harry laid Malfoy down, stomach down on the dry bit of the bed. When he looked up, he realized Ginny was sitting up, and Mandy had moved off, and was helping the Palomino centaur with what looked like a small, gangly centaur with a disproportionate body to leg ratio, as another centaur with a bandaged arm looked on.

Harry hesitated for a moment, but sat on the edge of Malfoy's bed, facing Ginny. "What happened?" He asked quietly, trying not to look at the blood splattered on the hem of his shirt.

"We met two herds, but some death eaters caught up with us, took us to a- dark room, I don't know it was some place, and we were blindfolded, but they only had me and dad, and then he transformed, went berserk, so I could climb out a window, but it was pretty high up, and we were surrounded by rocks, but Hec came with the centaurs eventually, I don't know what they did to him up there while I was down on the ground, it felt like forever. We got 'em though, we started sending centaurs over a couple of days ago I think, before we were caught, mostly the really little ones, the rest that will come will get here on their own. They aren't happy about it, Harry, they don't really trust us, just trust us more than they trust You Know Who. It was Willow that really save Da though, without her, he'd still be back there."

* * *

Harry spent the rest of the day sitting between Malfoy and Ginny's beds, leaning against the cool stone wall, thinking over everything. He didn't want to jump to any conclusions, but Malfoy had saved Ginny. Someone he wouldn't have touched a year ago. He might be a confusing, terrifying arse, but maybe he was exactly the enemy.

Surprisingly, Ron sat next to Harry, maintaining the same vigil over the two, quietly watching as assorted Family members came and talked to Ginny and hushed-ly stood around Malfoy. They watched as the centaur colt rose on his shaky legs, taking the blonde centaur, Willow's hand. Ron was permanently a deep purple color around her, as it would appear female centaurs didn't wear clothing either, and Harry felt distantly as though he should be more alarmed, but he couldn't be bothered with anything that wasn't concern for Ginny (oh alright, and a bit for Malfoy) right now.

Finally, Ginny drifted off to sleep, and Willow led the colt away, the bandaged, surly looking young male centaur following, giving Ginny and Malfoy soft looks, and then Harry a dirty look for seeing him do it.

Eventually, the light started to fade from the windows, and Malfoy opened an eye, coughing, and croaking, "Water."

Harry and Ron both froze for a moment, before Ron hesitantly got up to go get Malfoy a glass of water. When he returned, Malfoy pushed himself up a bit, wincing, and took a slurp of the water gratefully, licking his lips, before he lay back down.

"Is she alright?" He asked quietly, tipping his head in Ginny's direction. Ron nodded, and mumbled something, then rose and fled.

"Err, he's sort of, put off, because you aren't evil and all. He'll be alright," Harry said, feeling jittery the moment Ron fled. Maybe he should follow his friend…

"Sorry to disappoint," said Malfoy, a tired smile curling on the edge of his lips. He shut his glassy grey eyes, and for a moment looked like he had peacefully returned to sleep.

"What's wrong with me?" Malfoy asked, his voice still hoarse, eyes still closed.

"Err someone shot you, and someone errr, sort of stabbed you a bunch or maybe burned you? I don't know, no one actually told me," He said, realizing with every word that escaped his mouth how much of a clueless git he sounded like.

"I know where the arrow came from. Why do you always sound like an idiot when you talk?" Malfoy's voice was thick with sleep, sounding lazy and almost amiable, despite his word choice.

"Not all of us lived in Manor's growing up, some of us peasants were raised in huts." Harry was suppressing a smile, shrugging off Malfoy's jibe easily. Malfoy was so weird, he was mortally wounded but he still had energy to insult Harry.

"I can't believe they're letting a Gryffindor look after me…" mumbled Malfoy, his voice drifting off into sleep, and Harry's smile widened, and he rolled his eyes, but leaned forwards, reaching out, and pulling the blanket up around Malfoy a little more securely.


	44. We Draw 'Til Death

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Warnings: None.

Authors note: Torse, your kind words made me smile this morning after a hard night at the farm. You can't keep praising me though, my little head will swell and explode! Thank you so much for your support, I'm glad you're enjoying my story!

Anyhow, we have 4 new lambs, and a foal, and no one else (livestock wise, anyhow) is due to give birth until the weekend, so until saturday, I'm all yours! Comments and criticisms appreciated. Enjoy!

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

* * *

When Draco used his weird beast magic, it drained him, putting a pull and demand on his magic that he wasn't actually built to tolerate. He knew that, was a bit used to it. He could heal fast, but only if her slept, rested, took it easy enough for his magic to be able to sustain the accelerated healing that came so easily to much more magical creatures than man.

He curled his toes, wriggling slightly, before opening his eyes. Potter was sitting up against the wall, leaning on Tart's bed, but asleep. Draco yawned, stretching slightly, and outstretched his arm, lazily giving Potter a solid prod.

Potter had been staying pinned to Tart's bed since they'd come back, and for some reason he was being pleasant enough to Draco as well, as they both slept off their injuries. Tart had broken several ribs, her hip, and since they didn't have any skelogrow, there was only so much Leto could do to speed her healing. Draco had been burnt, by wand fire on his back, but no one would tell him how badly the burns were, all he knew what that if he moved too much or laughed, his back hurt excruciatingly.

Potter opened his eyes, blinking owlishly, a confused expression on his face for a moment. "Potter," whined Draco, not caring how pathetic he looked. "I'm thirstyyy."

"So go get yourself some water."

"I was wounded saving _your_ girlfriend. Very wounded."

"She's not my girlfriend," muttered Potter, his cheeks turning red, but he got up and stalked off to the kitchen nonetheless. When he returned, he shoved the cup of water into Draco's hand and plopped down gracelessly, cheeks still tinged pink.

"It's alright, Potter, I know she's moved on from you, but there will always be other deserving fans," Draco said, giving Potter his best simpering gaze.

"I don't have fans!" Potter sounded outraged, and Draco just raised an eyebrow at him doubtfully.

"Potter, are you lying to me? I am sick, you can't lie to me."

"Where the hell is that written," muttered Potter darkly, clearly sulking, fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt.

Draco laughed, sipping at his water awkwardly. The angle of having to lay on his stomach as he tried to drink water was less than graceful, he finally gave up and put his cup down, glancing up to find Potter looking at him with his weird, eyes bugged out, deer about to be shot facial expression.

"What the hell is the matter with you Potter? Do you have rabies or something?" Draco laid his head on his pillow, doing his best to look judgmental even though he was one hundred percent certain his hair was a wreck.

"You kissed me, when you were, you know, smoking, whatever it was," blurted Potter, freezing the moment the words left his mouth, looking like he might have an apoplectic fit any moment now.

"Well I don't have rabies, so you can't possibly be blaming this one me. Just because I'm a werewolf? That's racist, Potter," quipped Draco automatically, cursing his inebriated self. He sort of tended to become a nice, and even friendly person when he was intoxicated, and he'd been known to occasionally snog people who didn't really ask for it, but he was gentle enough, easily turned away, sort of like an over affectionate kitten. Why did Potter have to have been there for it? Merlin, this was awkward.

"No-! I just! I!" Potter spluttered, and Draco was amused enough to note that Potter appeared to be having a seizure. Huh. Gryffindors were so weird.

Tart yawned, raising her head, clearly roused by Potters hysterics, and smiled sleepily at them. "What're we yelling 'bout?" She asked drowsily.

"Potter took advantage of my maidenhood, and is now accusing me of giving him rabies," supplied Draco cheerfully, feeling that the more embarrassment Potter felt, probably the less embarrassed he would have to feel once this conversation caught up with me.

"You do not qualify as a maiden, also shame on you for getting the hero of the wizarding world sick," admonished Tart, propping herself up on her elbows, giving Potter a curious look. "Also, wait Harry, you did what now?"

Before a very red Potter could respond, Nyx burst in, and the look on her face sucked the laughter from Tart and Draco instantaneously. She silently moved over towards Draco's bed, holding her hand out to him. Draco got to his feet, and took her hand, allowing her to help him walk out of the room, wincing as the tender skin on his back stretched and gave.

She helped him along, to the Lair, where just the oldest of them were gathered, faces drawn and pale just as Nyx. They were gathered around the fire place, the rooms long shadows of the room dancing along with the flames. Draco's back was stinging, but the warm smoky scent of the fire, the familiar scent of this room made Draco feel a bit better. Pan held up a piece of parchment, without looking at Draco, his face stony. Draco picked up the small scrap, and glanced at it. Scribbled across the parchment, ink smeared, were the words: _The ministry has fallen. Hide them well._

Draco closed his eyes for a moment. This was it. This was the end of any denial anyone could thrust at them. This was it, it was real now, with no hope of quiet, peaceful turn around. This was war.


	45. Damned After All

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Warnings: Language.

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

* * *

Draco paced nervously in the library. He'd called them all, he couldn't hide this. They had to make a plan. He also had called Potter, Granger and Weasley. He didn't know what to do with them, part of him wanted to turn them out, on their own to do whatever quest for glory they needed to do, but in the end it was up to them. He'd also invited the oldest of the centaurs they'd brought back. They all stood together, away from the wizards looking guarded. They were all juveniles, for centaurs anyways, sent with the young ones from the herds willing to take the bargain.

Pale Willow stood, flanked by steely grey, with dark legs and dark hair, a young male called Cypress, behind them two black bodied, tan skinned twins, one was Sage, the other Aconite. They were all broad, muscular, with the reserved suspicions that were customary of centaurs around humans.

The sun was setting, casting a reddish glow across Draco's pale skin, across everyone. Red light, dark shadows, fitting of the occasion, really.

"The ministry's been taken over. We don't have any details, just that its fallen, and that we're all seriously fucked." Alright, so probably not the most calm, and eloquent start to a meeting ever, but Draco though he was doing pretty well for a sixteen year old. Pan stood next to him, their personal squabbles forgotten. In the past year their friendship had been tested and pushed farther than Draco would've ever expected, but he trusted Pan to pull through for him in dark times, always. Now, Pan stood beside him, stoic, strong expression an anchor for Draco's hammering heart.

"I won't lie to you, I think we'll need help if we're to make it. The ministries been passing regulations, most of us in this room would be branded, and a tracking spell permanently bound within our blood. Our magic crippled, movements monitored and restricted. I've been branded, and it is not something I plan on letting happen to a single other living soul, if I can help it."

"I gave all of you a choice, when I asked you here, or brought you here. To be smuggled to a safe place, though I can't guarantee anything, especially not anymore, or to stay and fight, or to stay and be protected. I stand by that, the offer still stands. But for those of us who stay, I think we need to pick up some adult slack, and we need to do all we can."

"But Chaos, what does all we can mean? We could cut our losses, we could hide, lie low, be safe." Draco turned his gaze sadly to little Lamia, scared, but determined.

"I wouldn't fault you for that, and I can send you off, but I will never lie low, and let this shit happen, to my brethren. I mean other werewolves, other so called beings, other so called beasts, other wizards, other living beings. I will never kneel, I won't stop fighting like hell for the living, but I don't expect many to stay with me in this possible suicide mission."

Pan stepped forwards, his shoulder leaning against Draco's firmly, a canine sign of support, of brotherhood. Before anyone else could say anything, Willow moved forwards, her hand extended towards Draco. He clasped it, and she gave it a firm shake, nodding, turning to the humans. "We will stay—fight for our right to exist as we have for centuries."

There was some soft murmuring, but no one got up to go, Draco swept his gaze over the crowd, lingering for a moment on the three stand out Gryffindors, apart from the rest, muttering to one another, though Potter's darkened eyes were fixed on Draco, Willow and Pan.

"I think we need to divide into teams," said Phobos, his normally easygoing face harder than Draco had seen it in months. Pan twitched his head at Phobos, an indication to continue.

"We should figure out a plan, divide into teams, and do what dad said, attack from all sides, help from all sides." As soon as he spoke, Deimos and Oberon were nodding.

And like that the meeting progressed, no one left, not even Lamia, her stubborn jaw setting, her eyes colder than any fourteen year olds should be.

Through the whole thing, the three Gryffindors remained silent, and when after what felt like hours, the conversations died, and the centaurs returned to their side of the Manor, to do whatever centaurs did all night, finally, Potter rose, and approached Pan and Draco. Tart was sitting beside her brother looking exhausted, her injuries still not fully healed.

"So that's it then?"

Whatever Draco expected Potter to say, that was not it. "Pardon?" snapped Pan, testily, before Draco could do more than narrow his eyes.

"It's all and well to save whatever, get whoever, run around like the masked bandit, sabotage whatever, but why won't you fight?" Potter looked livid, and Draco felt angry bile rise up in his throat, but again, before he could respond, Pan snapped out an answer.

"Look, Potter, I know you're the boy who chose, or whatever it is your title is these days, but we can't exactly take on the ministry and the death eaters, and dementors, and giants, and all of them. I don't know if you've noticed, but we aren't exactly an expansive army, here."

Potter's eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth, obviously ready to spit fire, and Draco sprang into action before anybody died. "Pan, darling, would you mind going and helping Tart back to bed, she looks dead on her feet, I can finish this conversation."

Both dark haired boys turned their thousand watt glares at Draco who was doing his best to herd Pan away from the conversation, shoving him towards Tart. Pan sighed, but deflated quickly, and went along, dutifully helping Tart to her feet, though he didn't actually looked that pleased.

"What do you want, Potter?" Asked Draco, too tired and worn out to beat around the bush. He leaned his hip against a book shelf, careful not to let his tender back touch anything solid.

"I want to know if this is all you're going to do!" The weird, calm truce the two had wordlessly formed in the infirmary was obviously gone, Potter was practically spitting at him in rage.

"Oh! Terribly sorry trying to save us sub-humans from Voldemort isn't good enough for you. What would you have me do?" Pan's technique of rage hadn't worked, so Draco let his icy exterior solidify, not showing a shadow of emotion as he coolly sneered at Potter.

Potter shook his head in exasperation. "It's great, it's fine, but you can't just run forever. Help me kill him, then you won't have to save anyone."

"We aren't running Potter, but lets see logistically for one moment. I know this kind of thing kill you Gryffindors, but bear with me for one second, will you? There are maybe 50 of us in this place, strong enough to fight. Less actually. Voldemort had an army, and army that includes most of our families. What are we going to do? Put on armor and go clash swords with him? We'll do what we can, in our calculated attacks, continue our guerilla war style, so we don't all die. We can't just run around murdering leaders of rebellions like it's easy. If you want to go, and run him through with your big old sword, or whatever you kids call it these days fine, but I won't be attending your funeral."

Despite everything, Potter rolled his eyes, cheeks flushing. "God Malfoy, is everything about- that?" he muttered darkly, but sighed, sitting down on the arm of one of the armchairs abruptly. "Help me then."

"Help you do what? Get in the Dark Lords robes? Potter, don't be ridiculous, I have a rebellion to run here."

Potter shot him a look, and Draco smirked, amused at Potter's flush. Potter didn't back off though, raising his eyebrows, clearly awaiting an answer.

"Fine. Help you what, vanquish the dark l- Voldemort? How? Do you need me to steal his food? Turn into a dog and bark at him? What the hell can I do to further your cause?"

"But if you could. You would?" Potters eyes were lit up with a weird light, almost maniac in its brightness, suddenly fixating on Draco.

"Fine, whatever," muttered Draco, feeling weird, and tired under the weight of boy hero over there's gaze. "If," he said suddenly, brightly, a sweet, innocent smile on his face.

"If…? Should I be worried?" Potter asked, suspiciously, licking his lips nervously at the angelic smile that to be fair rarely meant anything angelic.

"If you go and get me coffee whenever I want, for example, now?"

Potter gave him a blank look. "Wait, seriously?"

"He never jokes about coffee," offered Nemisis, slipping over to stand next to Draco.

"Eavesdropping is rude," replied Draco, but he couldn't help smiling. He knew he shouldn't be happy, hell was about to break loose, but he felt weird and warm, here in the library, with his little group of fighters, almost like a pride, but even warmer.

"Mmk, but Nyx wants me to force you to rest. Come on, da, Potter will go get you coffee and I'll let him into the lair when he's done. Come on. Nyx's orders," she said, shepherding Draco along insistently, making a dismissive shooing motion at Potter, who still looked a little like he wished all the Slytherins in the world would just melt on the spot to make his life easier.

"I'm assuming caffeine emergency is a decent excuse for letting Potter breach?" She asked cheekily, smiling as she practically dragged Draco over to his own bed, crossing her arms and glaring.

"I've trained you well. Tell Nyx not to fuss," he said yawning, adjusting himself to lay gingerly on his side, as to not put pressure on his burn. He let his eyes close, for a moment, while he waited, satisfied, for his coffee, but before he knew it, he drifted off to sleep, unaware that Nemisis had just gone to tell Potter to leave him alone until tomorrow otherwise Leto and Nyx, ever the mother hen's, might have seizures. For now, to let everyone get the sleep they'd need.


	46. A Song Too Sweet and Wild

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine except the thoughts in my little brain.

Warnings: Hermione hates Draco, but hey, she did slap him once.

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

* * *

"Hey. Wake up. C'mon Malfoy, wake up."

A prod came to Draco's arm, what felt like moments after he closed his eyes. He opened one eye groggily, rubbing the sand out of his eyes. "Mmm?"

Potter was crouching by Draco's mattress looking a bit hunted, glancing around nervously. Oh right. He probably wasn't supposed to be here. Draco stretched for a moment, sitting up, wincing as his back stretched, pulling his wounds raw again. He glared at Potter, but just as he was going to say something nasty, Potter held out a cup of coffee as some sort of combination peace offering, bait.

Draco hauled himself to his feet, then took the cup, shuffling out of the Lair, admittedly without any semblance of his usual grace, but it was god awful o clock in the morning, and there was no time for him to gather his wits, there was coffee to be enjoyed for heavens sake.

He shuffled into the kitchen and sat on the raised hearth by the fire, and greedily drank from the cup. It wasn't the best coffee he'd ever had, but it was coffee, a drink that could almost not go wrong. Draco knew it was supposed to be taken in moderation, supposed to be acrid, bitter, but to him it felt like humanity. Potter tried to say something but Draco blearily waved him into silence, drinking his coffee was more important anyhow.

Once the cup was drained, Draco looked up, mildly surprised to see Granger sitting at the kitchen table. He hadn't noticed her before, but then again, he was barely awake. "Alright, Potter, Granger, what's the occasion?"

"We thought we might get your help, Malfoy," began Granger, her tone more reserved than Potter's. "We need to get a hold of a few things before Harry and Professor Dumbledore can you know, kill You Know Who. And, well, you've been looting You Know Who's places, and this was one, we were sort of hoping you'd let us look through the stuff you, ah, apprehended."

"Why?"

Granger looked shifty, and just shook her head, turning to Potter. "See? I told you, he hasn't changed Harry, he still doesn't trust us!"

To Draco's surprise, Potter snapped at his friend. "Well of course he doesn't Hermione, we've been enemies since we were 11, and we've never been nice to him, ever. You don't trust _him_ either, you know."

Granger pursed her lips, not convinced, gazing at Potter thoughtfully.

Potter turned to Draco, and sighed. "It's dark magic, we don't know how he did it, but Voldemort has objects that have bits of him in it, bits of his magic, in them, and he can't die, not permanently, until they're all gone. We have four left, we need to destroy them, and we aren't sure where to start, but we thought you might have one."

"Right, I have chunks of Voldemort's soul laying about, they really help the energy of the place, help it feel homey, and permanent."

Granger glared at him, clearly her distaste for him ran deep, though he was not surprised. Potter just looked at him patiently, obviously waiting for an answer.

"Fine, whatever, go through whatever you want."

Granger looked surprised but pleased, and got up immediately, rushing from the room, probably to attend to some kind of literary emergency. No doubt someone's grammar was in dire need of editing. Potter got up, smiling slightly, and nodded at Draco.

"Potter. Wait," said Draco, before he even knew the words were out of his mouth. Potter turned back to face him, surprised, but his stupid pleased smile was still plastered on his stupid hero face.

"What are you going to do? Are you going to go?"

Potter paused for a moment before answering, frowning slightly. "Uh, I don't know. Maybe. I have to kill Voldemort, you know. It has to be me, so I'll have to go to find him. Until then though? I don't know. I don't like hiding, I don't like, well, Ginny says you lot, go out in masks and things, I don't think I could do that. But. I don't know. Dumbledore has a group, from the first war, I might see if they'll help me, but I think Ron likes it here, knowing everyone's ok, so I don't know."

"The Order of the Phoenix? Don't look so surprised. You do know my cousin gave you the snidget, Pip, right? The Black family used to breed snidgets, she helped us get some, ah, target related information. Plus she's you know, shagging one of the werewolves, I could smell one on her the moment I saw her."

"You can smell other werewolves?" Potter looked interested, but slightly sick, at the mention of their old teacher and Draco's cousin shagging. Draco just smirked, and nodded.

"Don't mind Hermione, she means really well, she's just still really upset about this animagus stuff," said Potter, eventually, when Draco made no move to respond on the topic of what werewolves could and couldn't do.

There was a weird silence for a moment, and Potter hesitantly turned to leave again.

"Potter?"

"What, Malfoy?"

"I suppose, that it might not be terrible, if you stayed. I suppose you are not the most awful human I have ever met, and if you desperately need a roof over your head, you can stay in a broom closet or something."

"Gee thanks, Malfoy," said Potter, smiling at Draco, who was pretending not to pay him any mind, sprawling out on the hearth comfortably.

* * *

Draco remained there for a while, basking in the warmth of the fire before he sat up, his mind, which he had been keeping blank, suddenly coming to a realization. He knew what he needed to do. And he knew whose help he needed. He got up, slipping back into the lair for a long sleeved shirt and his black trainers.

He walked along the winding passages, feeling de ja vu to when he was a little kid and he was a menace, who would run rampant about the castle, a little curious, adventuring terror that his parents had been amused by, and that the nannies and house elves had been afraid of.

He stopped outside the green house, attached to the house, mostly empty now, save a few random plants that had held up despite the neglect. Here, the centaurs had decided to stay, where they could see the moon, and stars through the thick glass walls. He knocked, then leaned against the wall opposite the door way, in his least threatening body position.

Cypress, the dappled grey male looked up, and rolled his eyes slightly, nudging Willow, indicating towards Draco. She rose gracefully, and ducked out of the room nodding at him as she closed the door behind her.

"Yes?"

"How's the little guy?" He asked, indicating to the small centaur in the room. He too had been branded, but unlike Draco, his ugly brand was on his flank, like a branded horse sold for slaughter.

"Fine, Chaos. Did you come here for small talk?" Her tone was clipped, but the trick to talking to centaurs was the same as talking to teachers. Be aware they didn't like you much, and didn't think highly of you based on experience that was not your own fault, and not to take it seriously. Then again, Draco's favorite professor before all of this had been Professor Snape, so who knows, maybe he was just used to being disliked.

Draco shrugged and got to the point. "I need to talk to you about what you'd be comfortable with here." When she didn't respond, merely maintained her ferocious gaze, he continued. "Werewolves, young, like me, might defect if they had anywhere to go, but I know how you, well your dad at least, feels about us. So if it would make you uncomfortable, we can find somewhere else for them to go-"

Before he could finish, she waved her hand dismissively. "Don't assume because my father is judgmental based on race that we are. I will confer, but I don't care. You assured safety and the stars don't contradict you. There is no need for alternate arrangements. I am not my father. "

Draco met her gaze steadily, and with the same conviction, responded, "Neither am I mine."


	47. Are We Keeping Score?

Disclaimer: Nothing is for me!

Warnings: Nada.

Authors note: So there are parts where it's vague as to what's going on. My reasoning was the following: I wrote the scene in more detail, but it just doesn't seem like something that independent, strong willed Draco would actually care about, so I rewrote it to be vague, and sort of felt that it was more true to the character, but I have mixed feelings. Angst, angst, angst. Anyways, Enjoy!

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Draco lounged casually on the steps of the manor, waiting. Finally, Potter showed up, as usual dressed like one of the homeless hags that begged on Knockturn alley. Draco bit his tongue, and made no comment, only nodding slightly in greeting, and turning to walk down the winding path, to head out. They were going to a pub in wales, to meet with a werewolf Potter knew and Potter had insisted that he absolutely had to come, had to be there for it. Rather than bother with fighting with him like Granger had, waving her arms in panic, he had just shrugged. Let boy wonder do whatever he wanted, was how Draco saw it.

Draco pulled the hood up on his muggle sweat shirt, handing the extra one he had brought to Potter. The boy took it hesitantly, frowning at it. "Uh, thanks Malfoy, but I'm not cold."

"To cover your ugly hair and your scar, you idiot so we don't get murdered by a hair stylist, or a death eater."

Potter looked annoyed, but stripped off his lumpy knit sweater and took the dark muggle sweat shirt, putting it on, hesitating for a moment, then pulling the hood up to match Draco's. Once they were out of the wards, Potter reached out, and gripped Draco's wrist firmly, screwing up his face in anticipation of the twist and squeeze that was aparition. Draco winced at Potter's firm grip, but drew his wand and away they went.

They stumbled, landing in field, the tall, dry yellow plants were waist high, and Draco nearly toppled over, the soft dirt giving under his feet. He looked around, slightly confused, squinting, seeing the lights of a town in the distance. Luckily it was dark, because the middle of a field was hardly a subtle place to apparate to and avoid being detected by muggles.

Potter released Draco, and staggered slightly, before regaining his balance, trudging after Draco.

"You couldn't get us any closer to the pub?" Potters voice had a slight whine.

"Look, Potter, if you want to do the apparating, you can get us home. Oh wait. You don't know how to apparate well enough to go places you don't know. How sad for you," said Draco, rolling his eyes, but his tone was amiable enough.

Potter muttered something under his breath that Draco didn't catch, but the other boy didn't actually look that annoyed. Draco found a weird comfort in their banter, the normalcy made everything else a little easier to accept.

They approached the town in a comfortable silence, and the dingy wooden sign on the first building, on the outskirt of the town pronouncing the small wooden building as their destination, The Last Knight. They ducked in, keeping their heads down, faces covered, and slipped to a back table, a wall at their backs where they could wait. Draco had insisted they show up almost an hour early, so that there wouldn't be any surprises, and though Potter had initially complained, in the end, they were still here an hour before 10, the designated meeting time.

A pretty girl with thin lips cam up to them, a friendly smile on her face, a pad of paper on her hip. "Evening, gents, can I get you anything?" Her voice seemed loud in the quiet pub, her bubbly personality spilling over into her every motion.

Potter just shook his head, but Draco smiled smugly, he'd had Styx prepare him for this. "A coke-a-cola please, the largest you have."

Potter looked up in surprise and snorted, rolling his eyes when the girl smiled and jotted it down. "You've got it, a water and a coke."

The moment she was gone, Potter turned to Draco, speaking softly so a muggle sitting alone three tables over wouldn't over hear them. "How do you even know what coke is?"

"I am well versed in the muggle, it is an intriguing culture and creature that I've been striving to understand," said Draco loftily, ignoring Potter's snicker. The waitress returned with a thin, shiny cup, larger than any in the wizarding world, and a straw and a cup of water for Potter, and told them brightly if they needed anything to yell for her.

"The muggle isn't a creature, Malfoy," Potter offered after a moment, while Draco closed his eyes and let the bubbles make the roof of his mouth feel funny in the best way.

"The muggle is indeed a creature, and an exotic one that makes delicious drinks," said Draco calmly, discarding his straw on the table, and sipping the sickly sweet, delicious liquid straight from the cup.

Potter rolled his eyes and leaned back, tipping his chair backwards to balance on its two hind legs, "You are so weird. You do know caffeine doesn't count as a food group, right?"

"That's what everyone keeps telling me, but I don't believe any of you."

They lounged in a comfortable silence, Draco wriggling happily in his seat, drumming his fingers on the table, as the carbonated beverage made his nose tickle, and his nerves sing. He looked up once he was done with his drink, and noticed that Potter was staring at him, looking surprised.

"What?" asked Draco huffily, stopping his wiggling, trying to sit still, but failing as his leg started bouncing.

"I don't know, I guess I never noticed you're a real person," said Potter, shrugging. Draco just stared at him, not bothering to grace that with an answer. Potter flushed slightly, and continued, "Well, like I know you're a person, not like that, but I always thought maybe you were too well polished to fidget, and drink soda, and wear muggle clothes, it's sort of weird."

Draco looked morosely at Potter, over exaggerating his dejection, as he sighed. "I know, I was once a high prince of society, but, oh how this gypsy life style ahs ruined me for high society, I am almost a commoner these days, barely able to execute a waltz, hardly qualified to select a decent wine."

"Oh haha, welcome to the plebian lifestyle. And you're too young for wine."

"Oh sorry mother, I forgot that I am every so good at obeying rules," replied Draco easily, rolling his eyes. Potter laughed, and they basked in the silence, oddly comfortable, waiting for Potter's associates.

"You know, you could call me Harry, if you wanted," Potter said suddenly.

"Why?"

"Well. We'll be working together. Right? So. I don't know."

Draco narrowed his eyes at Potter, speculatively. "I suppose you could call me Draco," he conceded slowly. "Though if this whole thing is a ploy to get into my pants, be warned, you are not the first to try to start a war with a nose-less freak to get my attention, so you might want to be more original."

Potter made a muffled, spluttering sound, the mouthful of water he'd just taken bursting from his mouth, leaking over him, as he coughed, cheeks red. Draco laughed maniacally watching in glee as Potter grabbed a napkin, mopping up his shirt and chin.

"You've obviously had way too much soda Draco, maybe we should cut you off," Potter said, pulling the cup away from Draco, so that the overly helpful waitress wouldn't be tempted to give him anymore.

Draco rolled his eyes, pouting slightly, but before his sulking could really progress, Potter's face sobered, fixed on the door way. Draco turned, seeing three figures headed towards them; Lupin, and older werewolf and ex-professor from third year, Draco's crazy cousin Nymphandora, and a thin, tall dark man, with a powerful brow and broad shoulders.

The three pulled up their chairs, and sat, politely declining anything from the friendly waitress, who came over, snagging Draco's cup for a refill before Potter could stop her. Draco stifled the urge to cackle, and settled for just looking smug.

Potter anxiously asked about the old headmaster, and Lupin and the tall man, who introduced himself as Kingsley Shacklebolt (by far, the best name ever, Draco decided), promised Potter the old man was doing well. They talked about people Draco didn't know, or had no interest in for a while, and he took the opportunity to drink most of his fifth cup full of soda.

He shifted uncomfortably, aware suddenly of the other werewolf's gaze on him. He knew the older wolf didn't approve of Draco, not fully, not like he approved of Potter, and even Pan. But the other wolf had never been even a little cruel, though his gaze made Draco's skin prickle slightly at the sheer intensity of it.

Draco's cousin nudged Lupin and Lupin turned back to the conversation, his odd, curious gaze finally lifting from Draco. Draco shivered slightly, feeling uncomfortable around these strange people, he had become used to only interacting in his odd little run away family, and with non-wizards, and this was making him feel a bit on edge.

But before long, he was sucked into the conversation. They discussed some of the wolves, how Lupin might be able to get them out, and send them in Draco's direction, they decided on a place to send them, where Draco and his kids could pick them up, to eliminate or try to eliminate the chances that Voldemort might follow them. Shacklebolt wanted Draco and Potter and their group to tell them where they were hiding out, and to try to work under their group, the Order of the Phoenix, but to Draco's surprise, before he or Potter could protest, Lupin calmly told his comrade off.

"We have to let them hide away so that they won't be compromised, what if we are caught, and we have to let them be free to break the law, to do what they can. You and I, we are old men, we have to follow the rules, but it'd be best to let them run wild."

Lupins voice was tired, but his words were passionate enough, and it was in that moment that Draco decided no matter how much the other man disapproved of the current ways of werewolves, and hated his own kind, he was a man to be respected.

Draco tuned out, too energetic, and twitchy to want to take part in this. He knew he was being childish, but he didn't like feeling like a child seeking parents approval again, when he'd been up to his own devices for months now. Finally, the three adults rose to their feet, hugging Potter, and nodding to Draco who was rocking back on his chair, feeling like he needed to run, or kill something, or do something other than sit quietly in a pub listening to old people tell him what to do.

As soon at the others were gone, Draco scrambled to his feet, and walked out as calmly as he could manage. The moment he was out, he ducked into an alley, and bolted, running, and shifting, his paws landing at a brisk run. He could hear Potters heart beat, steady and strong somewhere behind him, and Draco skidded, turning sharply, running towards Potter, his wolves teeth bared. Potter slowed to a halt, and held up his hands, breathing hard.

Draco shifted back, his adrenaline pumping, his heart beating quickly, and without hesitation he threw himself back onto the long grass in the field, flopping down, his breath coming in sharp pants.

"How come you don't like Lupin?" asked Potter, sitting beside Draco, leaning back on his hands.

"He doesn't like me."

"Draco, I don't think he knows how to dislike people."

"It's complicated. A werewolf thing."

Potter didn't respond, just turned his head to meet Draco's gaze, pursing his lips slightly.

"Oh fine," relented Draco. "He doesn't like this new, embrace your wolf mentality that some packs are trying, and I think he resents it, because he's and old guy who hates what he is, and hates himself. Don't get me wrong, I wish sometimes things had happened differently, but I can't change anything, and I've never been one to hate myself. But Lupin hates what he is, he hates what he turns into, and he doesn't approve of trying to control ourselves without wolfsbane. I don't know, he's just an old timer."

"But you can turn into a wolf when its not a full moon. Wouldn't he want that?" Potter sounded genuinely curious, in this moment reminding Draco briefly of Nemisis when she'd found out what he was. Earnest, curious, well meaning, and not scared or disgusted in the least.

"That's just me, he wouldn't be able to do that even if he wasn't already addicted to the wolfsbane."

Potter furrowed his brow, "How?"

"When I was turned, my dad tried to make them fix me. Voldemort promised him he'd try, but instead, he did a bunch of testing and things, and basically they injected me with every magical being they could get their hands on and I almost died, but I'm not really normal since then, you know? Just your average, medical experiment gone wrong."

Potter sat beside him quietly, digesting the information, while Draco tipped his head back, looking up at the stars, searching idly for the stars for which he and his mum were named. The cold air was starting to nip at him through his clothes, and he eventually sat up.

"Come on, lets go."

"Draco?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"Can I see what they- what he did to your back?"

Draco hesitated for a moment. "It wasn't Voldemort, it was one of his new ministry witches, a horrid little troll of a woman," he said, relenting. He turned, pulling his shirt up to reveal the ugly, reddish brand scar across his shoulders that read W0001. W for werewolf, marked like an animal. But, Draco supposed, he was actually an animal, so maybe it was relevant. He shivered, feeling Potters heavy gaze, and let his shirt drop.

"Come on Potter, stop trying to get my clothes off and let's go."

Potter flushed and got to his feet glaring at Draco, gripping his arm harder than necessary. "Oh shut up and take me home, Draco, before I kill you," he muttered, rolling his eyes, but a small smile was curling on his lips, and Draco snickered, pulling out his wand to take them home. He felt like the evening hadn't been a complete bust, despite his reservations on Potter's adult cronies and their urges to control them. Also, maybe Potter wasn't awful to spend time with, when he wasn't trying to beat Draco's face in with the nearest 300 Weasleys.


	48. Life, Survival, and Instinct

Disclaimer: Nothing is for me!

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Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

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The next week or so was relatively quiet inside the actual Manor, but out in the world, it was anything but. Word kept arriving of different raids, and the small golden coin that Lupin had given him, that would glow hot when there was someone to be taken in, was pretty much always hot. When the ministry had fallen, before then actually, Voldemorts interest in creating other like Draco, making more freaks of nature, had increased. Now, the ministry had passed several decrees on what kind of unregistered children and young adults could be seized and 're-raised' properly. What that translated too, was any muggle born, werewolf, squib, even some half bloods, any young goblins, centaurs, anyone's children could be seized, and taken by the ministry. And by the ministry, of course it actually meant taken by Voldemort, where he would have his arithmancers, potions masters, and healers inject them with things, brand them, and cross them (IE, a werewolf biting a centaur, or a vampire), and so on.

What this meant for Draco, and the family, was that they had more and more people willing to send their children away, and more and more vigilantes willing to abduct children from the ministries various holding houses, and some were smuggled to the continent, some to the Americas, and some were sent to Draco and his family. They did their best to ignore the reports of other things, coming in of muggle massacres, of the murder of families who were unwilling to surrender their young to either the Death Eaters, or to the Re-Raising Academies, and of the increase of the scope of Voldemort's reach, into Scotland and Ireland, and even edging menacingly towards the main continent.

Draco had divided the mansion into areas, hoping that peace between the species could reign, and so far, it was working relatively well. Malfoy Manor had been built back, when whole families aunts and uncles and cousins all lived in one family home with 100 of their favorite servants, and so there were enough suites, more or less, though some were dusty, and with the house elves long gone, there were some heavy duty cleaning spells that had to be cast on the less used portions of the old, rambling house.

There were a few werewolves, though not many made it to Draco, still mostly hiding in the safety of their Packs, who inhabited the west wing, closest to the Lair, though still separated by a few hallways and random parlors and studies. There were ten juvenile vampires, sent from a large coven in the north of Scotland after two juveniles had been branded then killed by Voldemorts lackeys. They were in the dungeons, on the north side, kept far from the centaurs, who did not trust them, even less than anyone else did anyhow. There were 9 goblin, and half goblin children, who stayed in the south tower, though they were more friendly than almost any of the others, feistier and less aloof. Three half veela children stayed with the goblins, all of them were young enough that they mostly just enjoyed playing, not yet stuck on the differences between them.

Then of course, on the east side of the manor in the observatory and green houses were the original 8 centaurs, though now their numbers had nearly doubled as the ministry seemed to have it out for were's and centaurs above all else.

Potter had gone through all the things that Draco and the others had looted from the Death Eater camps they had raided, and had gleefully run off with a few things, waving them around to Granger who had nearly gone into hysterics, and then the Golden Trio had disappeared for two days, taking the goblet and a weird old ring that they had nicked from a pile of Draco's crazy aunt Bellatrix's stuff.

Some of their human refugees, who hadn't been keen on any fighting or danger, were more than happy to help around with making enough bloody food to feed the others, though of course the ever proud Centaurs, and the vampires (for obvious reasons) went around their own business getting their food, the rest were willing to at least eat together, crammed into the kitchen. It was like a crazy family and a circus had exploded in a crumbling, fire mauled mansion and then they had all just decided to stay put.

Fostering inter-species cooperation had not been the initial intention, but at it turned out everyone could at least be more or less civil to one another after a few initial scraps, and the unifying fear of the outside world was enough to scare almost anybody into at least grudging cooperation.

They worked tirelessly on the wards, drawing help from anyone that would help. The goblin childrens parents, though initially extremely distrustful, had been wooed by Tart and Weasley's brother of all people, and in the end had performed some kind of terrifying goblin magic so that anyone who tried to cast a curse at the outside of the manor's tall stone wall would have it multiply and rebound on them. At least that was all they said they did, but Draco and Pan had expressly forbidden anyone from touching the wall at all, slightly wary of the maniac drive in the goblins eyes when they'd said that here, their children might be safe.

Willow, the pretty, pale centaur refused to do magic, but did eventually relent at Nemisis' well meaning badgering and was teaching a few people how to shoot bows and arrows with the grace and accuracy that centaurs were famed for.

No one else had been surrendered by their parents, at least not to Draco, and likely they didn't know where their offspring were, mainly for the safety of said offspring, and so they hadn't directly contributed, but Perses had found a book on blood magics in Draco's dad's library, and in a terrifyingly cryptic potion that involved the blood of a child, willingly given, from as many willing children as they could find, painted in a line around the property, supposedly kept ill wishers away, with of course the help of terrifying old Celtic charms and runes to be painted in the acidic mixture of blood, poisons, and the venom from a basilisk. The last ingredient had been a problem, until Granger (ever present in the library) had overheard them, and set her jaw, and when the Gryffindor Trio of Goodness came back from running off to consort with Dumbledore, they had with them three basilisk fangs that she wordlessly passed to Draco in a moleskin bag.

And through it all, Potter had started this weird thing, where he utterly refused to respond unless Draco called him by his given name. He also had joined Moros in the depressing crusade to feed Draco at least triple his weight per meal, lest he collapse, or some such fantastical idea that Cerberus was feeding them. It was amusing, but also it felt weirdly like Potter was trying to befriend him, which Draco found more alarming than Weasley's brusque truce, that Tart said was because he didn't mind that Draco had kept her from dying that one time.

The Family continued trying to attack Voldemort as quietly as they could. Now with their ever increasing amount of refugees, they had to be more and more careful not to be found out, and not to have their location found out. They satisfied themselves with mainly just stealing anything and everything they could get their hands on, from food, to anything shiny, to wands, to books, anything at all that looked at all worth anything.

Outside the manor walls, in the forest there were now two full herds of centaurs, and a few lone ones come from other herds, mercenaries to help keep the outsides safe. They were not the big herds, who were scornful of men, but they were mostly herds of younger centaurs, who realized that while they were helping wizards, they were also helping themselves, and helping their young, and helping innocent children, one of the most important tenants of centaur culture.

It wasn't until two weeks after the ministry had publically fallen, that the first other Experiment had arrived at the manor. He, like Draco was a young werewolf, who had been recombined, as Draco discovered they were calling it, with dragon blood, and mainly kelpie. The result was a thin, skittish dark haired boy with a vague ability to control fire, ability to shape shift effortlessly, and a strong desire to eat raw meat. His name was Cole, and he stayed with the other werewolves, but understandably became a bit attached to Draco, who ended up letting the small, 13 year old follow him about sometimes. Draco couldn't imagine having all that happen to him when he was that age, and though he never let Cole learn his real name, he did grow almost fond of the quiet boy, and how when stressed he would instinctively shape shift, losing control over his powers, just as Draco had when he was first Recombined, in times of high stress.

All in all, it was terrifying, and sometimes the weight of having people rely on him for the safety of all these small, innocent, and scared beings sometimes terrified Draco into long bouts of not sleeping. Sometimes Pan would sit up with him, perched on the edge of the kitchen steps, comforted by the night sky, but more often than not, it was Potter, who apparently had nightmares of the day when his fans would no longer love him the most, and was woken up all the time any how, who kept him company. They would sometimes play exploding snap, or sometimes they would just sit there, calmly insulting one another, the once hate filled words a comforting banter.

Draco was strung out, tired, more stressed than he had ever been in his entire life, and all in all he was also much happier than he could have ever hoped for, with most of the people left a live he cared for safe, and with him, and for once he was actually doing something that made a difference, and for once he was free of the stigma of his name, and free of his fathers shadow.


	49. Look Out For Burning Buildings

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.

Warnings: Sap? Nada.

Authors note: Things have been absolutely insane, but hopefully things will calm down by next week and then I'll go back to updating regularly. Sorry guys! This chapter was written out kinda fast, and at night and all that so if you catch any edits let me know!

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The first sunny day of February led to many of the inhabitants of the Manor to go outside. It was warm, warm enough for sweatshirts, cloaks, and coats to be left indoors, abandoned for the first time in a while. Draco was lounging comfortably on a large, flat rock by the pond, pretending to keep an eye on the younger children, wading in the pond, splashing one another, and splashing at the nervous goblin children, who had never been swimming before, and were huddled on the beach, but were giggling shyly, squealing as one of the veela children, her long hair catching the sun and glowing a bright gold, pushed them playfully towards the water. Willow and Sage were off on the edge of the thin willow forest Draco's mother had planted when he was a child, with some of the younger centaurs who were chasing each other around, clearly pleased to have time outside in the sun, to stretch their long legs.

Predictably, the resident vampires were indoors, probably sulking somewhere in the dungeon corner they had inhabited, but everyone else was outside, either on the damp grass, drinking in the sun like reptiles sunning themselves, or trying to play the weird muggle game that Prometheus and Styx were trying to teach everyone to play, with an old quaffle. They were kicking it around, and making up rules about how one could handle the ball, and move it, and where they had to move it to get points, and about whether or not it was fair to shove people out of the way for the ball.

Draco was sprawled on the warm rock between Nyx, who was similarly spread out and drowsing in the sun, and Cole, who was curled up, his knees tucked under his chin, arms wrapped around himself, watching the children playing in the pond stoically. Thom, Oliver and Blake, three of the werewolves that Lupin had sent Draco's way were sitting near by, lazily playing cards with Charon, Morpheus and Cratos. The other humans were warming up to the Werewolves, and while on some level Draco understood their hesitancy to just calmly coexist, he found himself slightly irked that the stigma existed at all.

Draco turned his head opening one eye to watch as Nemisis and Tartarus cheated ruthlessly at Prometheus' muggle game, much to the usually stoic boys chagrin, though he dare not tell off his girlfriend much. Eos came barreling out of nowhere, slamming into Nemisis, toppling her over in his valiant attempts to rescue the ball, sending them both skidding across the slick grass while Cerberus, playing a rather apathetic referee (who had no idea how the game was played in the first place) just laughed at them, not bothering to call a foul.

Pan came out from in the castle and perched on the edge of the rock where Draco and Nyx sat, tunring his head towards the sun, closing his eyes.

"This warm in February, huh? Who would've thought?"

At Pan's voice Nyx opened her eyes smiling at him in acknowledgement before closing her eyes again. Draco rolled onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows to survey the lawn. He'd spent a long time as an only child in this house, and it was rare to see this many people looking so lively and unlike the prim and proper playmates his parents had enlisted for him when he was a child.

He surveyed his bare arms, noting the slight pink color they were turning and cursing his pale skin. "I hate it," he said, muttering darkly, prodding his pink tinged skin sullenly. Pan rolled his eyes at Draco's antics.

"Whatever, come on then, Potter is lighting things on fire in your house anyways."

"Pan! Why didn't you start with that. My poor house! It's been burnt enough for one decade, thank you very much. Show me to the heathen, I'll beat this arson setting trend out of him!"

Draco leaped to his feet, tugging Pan after him, giving Cole an automatic smile when the boy hesitated. As soon as Draco smiled, Cole got to his feet nimbly, and trotted after them glancing at the pond one last time before he disappeared into the manor with them.

Cole was understandably drawn to the pond, as it was the largest body of water on the property, and the large part of him that was now under the kelpies magical influences was drawn to the cool, calm depths of any water it could find. The quiet boy was prone to disappearing when people made him nervous, but not because he was a coward, or socially uncomfortable, because he was terrified of himself, and when he got nervous he tended to shape shift. Draco of course, thought that Cole's ability to change his form to anything at will was the most wicked thing that he had ever seen ever, but it just seemed to make Cole feel singled out.

"Potter, Pan tells me you are ruining everything, once again," wailed Draco dramatically, sweeping into the room. Harry didn't even look up from where he was inspecting a goblet suspiciously.

"Oh, whatever, Harry, Pan says you're ruining everything. Have you gone mad? Are goblets speaking to you? Did you get into the centaurs, ahem, herbs again?"

Harry glanced up, and rolled his eyes. "No, nothing is talking to me that shouldn't be."

He put the goblet in the center of the floor, and muttered something, shooting a jet of red light at it, that just bounced off and smacked into the wall, leaving a char mark. "Excuse me, can you please not set my poor house on fire?" Draco whined, crossing his arms, leaning on the door frame.

Harry rolled his eyes, and crouched by the goblet, evaluating it. After a long silence, where he appeared to be glaring the cup into submission, Cole quietly asked, "What are you doing?"

"I need to destroy it, but nothings working."

"Ah yes, fie on goblets and their evil ways," muttered Draco, winking at Cole, who was smiling a small, amused smile. Harry rolled his eyes, and sighed, rising.

"You know. You could help," he offered turning to face Draco and Cole.

"Why? What did the poor cup do?"

"Come on, I'm the savior and things, warrior of goodness and what not you're always going on about, can't you just trust me?"

Draco sighed wearily, and waved his hand dismissively. "Fine, fine, fine, come along then, we need more room."

They walked to the main hall, the biggest, tallest space that didn't have people housed in it, that wasn't outside. Draco turned to Cole, meeting the skinny werewolf's eyes speculatively. "You know what I'm thinking, kiddo?"

Cole nodded, his face serious.

"You up for it?"

Cole nodded again, taking a step forwards, gesturing quietly at Harry to put the cup down.

Harry did so, then moved back, and he and Draco stood along the wall, behind Cole. Cole took a deep breath, closed his eyes, put his arms out, and as he began to transform, the magic pulsing through his body could be tasted on the air, static and dangerous. He grew, and expanded, his limbs lengthening, growing wings, leathery and scaly. A small welsh dragon crouched in the entry way, snorting, carefully moving his head lower to aim at the goblet. He took a deep breath in, and blew, hot white flames leaping out of his shortened snout, the smell of burning pulsing through the air, as the fire engulfed the small golden cup. Cole let out a long, deep breath of fire, then stopped, and turned, stamping out the flames with his powerful hind legs and tail, shaking the house as he stamped. He looked over at Draco and Harry, and when Draco nodded slightly, he closed his eyes, and his transformation back down to a human happened much faster, his body falling through the transformation and when he was a human again, his knees buckled, and Draco moved forwards to catch the small boy, in the same moment that Harry rushed forwards to inspect the melted, twisted, charred blob of metal that was once the cup.

Draco didn't bother waiting to see what Harry thought of the cup, he put his arm under Cole's small frame, supporting most of his weight as he moved him towards the Lair. "Did I do alright?" Cole asked tiredly, his husky low voice, always so unexpected from his small frame, was hoarser than usual.

"Yeah, 'course ya did, come on, lets let you lay down," Said Draco, lifting him easily through the door, leaving the tapestry open, setting Cole down on his bed. The moment Cole's head his the pillow, he was out like a light. Draco yawned, and got up, deciding to go check back on Potter, and check on the entrance hall to make sure all the flames were really out.

Harry was crouched a few feet from the melted metal, waiting for it to cool. Draco wandered over, standing slightly behind him, arms crossed. Harry glanced over his shoulder, and smiled. "Thanks, I think it's destroyed."

Draco nodded, feeling a weird twist in his gut at the other boys grateful smile.

"Will the little guy- Cole right? Will he be alright?"

"Yeah, he should be alright, he just needs to rest. This magic, it takes a long time to get used to, and our bodies can't handle it, and sometimes if we use too much, the human part of our bodies get left behind, need to rest, so once he sleeps for a while, he'll be alright."

"Can you turn into a dragon?" Asked Harry curiously, moving back to sit cross legged instead of remaining crouched on the blackened floor.

Draco laughed, and sat down next to him. "No, I wish. They didn't put anything that can shape shift crazily like that in me."

"Yeah?" Harry's voice was nonchalant, but his eyes were darting over to Draco and then away in the least sneaky manner possible. Draco resisted snickering at the Gryffindors lack of social grace, and just nodded vaguely. When Harry looked slightly crestfallen, Draco opened his mouth to respond, nearly against his will.

"Well we're both werewolves, but other than that, they pretty much changed us. You know. Not human anymore, so might as well make us useful wastes of wizards. They want animals, soldiers, they can control, that aren't as stupid as trolls, and can take orders, and be bribed. It's mostly just a ruse for Voldemort looking for a way to live forever, you know."

"You aren't wastes of space."

Draco nodded, quietly. They sat in silence for a moment, watching the air around the melted metal shimmering with the heat it was giving off.

"What is it?" Asked Draco eventually, nodding his head at the slowly cooling blob of charred gold.

"Voldemort is storing bits oh his soul in famous wizarding artifacts, another attempt at living forever I guess."

Draco nodded, not wanting to know what disgusting blood magic would probably be used to get ones soul to shatter apart. He immediately regretted asking. Voldemort made him sick, it made him feel odd, and old, and angry, and sick.

After another few long minutes Potter spoke again. "Do you wish you were never bitten?"

Draco paused, hugging his knees up to his chest, considering the question carefully. "No. I regret how it happened, I'm angry at the wolf that did it, I'm mad about why it was done, but I don't regret this path, and I don't think I would've been brave enough to turn away from my family had it not been for this. I didn't know they would go this far, before, and I didn't know they would dismiss me so easily. And there's something comforting about knowing that they're afraid of me, afraid enough to send my own father after me. And the whole pack bonding is actually sort of nice, like having a real family."

Another long silence hung in the air, while both boys digested what Draco had said.

"You would've still done it though, Draco. Saved yourself."

Draco didn't move a muscle not letting his body betray the slight pleasure that he felt, the smugness at hearing Harry use his given name. He should chastise him, tell him not to use his real name, but there was a weird warmth in his belly that kept his mouth shut.


	50. Feel it in Your Bones

Disclaimer:I own nothing.

Warnings: Nothing.

Author's note: I know I have been AWOL. Life has been overwhelming, and I was too tired to be creative, but last night, some kind of inspiration infested my brain. So here we go.

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

* * *

He should have known it was too good to last.

They were sitting in the kitchen, good naturedly jibbing, idly listening to the battered old wireless, the fake news to cover up the governments slow crumble. It was warmer out, the stones were no longer unforgivingly frozen to the touch.

There was a shudder in the wards, and immediately the chatter stopped. Draco rose quickly to his feet, Pan on his heels as they ducked out onto the lawn, to greet the three boys they'd sent to try to figure out where the dark lord was lurking these days. They'd lost track of him in the past few days and send Oberon, Minos, and Chronos off to find the little bastard.

Only one figure, hunched on the ground waited for them on the lawn.

Draco broke into a run, sprinting forwards, his heart stopping dead in his chest.

Chronos was covered in blood, a huge gash tearing down his face, alone his neck and disappearing into his shirt, the ugly dark red streak stark on his pale hair and face.

Pan fell to his knees next to the pale boy, hunched, crumpled on the grass, red staining his lips.

Draco crouched next to them, turning, sensing Cole's ever present silent figure following in step. He locked eyes with the other wolf, who ducked his head, and turned, running back in to find Leto.

Pan's handsome face was pale, eyes bleak, as Chronos coughed and gave Draco a despairing look. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, scared.

"They know where we are. They're coming."

* * *

Leto came, and Pan carried Chronos in after her as she rushed to the infirmary collecting Lamia and Granger along the way to help. Draco was frozen, his brain moving too fast to process. He had to tell them. They had to do something.

Lord Voldemort wasn't stupid. He wouldn't come charging in. He relished fear, he would wait a little while, a few hours, and he would also have to try to figure out how many of them there were, and how to get past the wards.

Draco swallowed. He couldn't let them vote, fight over what to do. This wasn't a democratic bloody election, they needed a boss, to resent, to listen too, or to ignore. But one thing that they couldn't do was freeze.

He made his decision in seconds, moving towards the back of the castle. This would be a true test of their interspecies cooperation. If they failed now, then they would all probably die, so he hoped that for once everyone could put everything aside and just survive.

"Willow. I need to talk to you."

Something about his tone, or his face, or Chronos' blood on his shirt must have conveyed how serious he was. She rose elegantly, walking past him, standing in the doorway, and into the hallway. Her pale gaze bore through him, silently awaiting the news that made him so grim.

"I need you to take the refugees, the children, deep into the crypts. They found us, somehow, and we think they're coming. And I need you to take the ones that can't fight down into hiding."

She measured him with those slanted, nonhuman eyes, that seemed to be able to see his every intention in their depths. "Why me?"

"You can keep them safe, you can hunt, keep them alive. You can make sure they survive without wizarding magic, and you can keep them quiet down there until it's safe to come out. You have your bows, you lot are much better at surviving than we are."

"How many?"

"I don't know. Everyone that can't, or shouldn't, or doesn't want to fight."

"Won't they know we're here, hiding."

"Please Willow. I need you to trust me. We'll lure them away. They don't know you're here, they won't be looking for you, they won't know how."

His heart was thudding, he was sure she could hear him, her unflinching gaze still not lifting from him. She nodded simply.

"Thank you. In about an hour, in the crypts, we'll use the magic to throw them off of you."

* * *

The next conversation would be harder. He slipped into the infirmary, and caught Pan's gaze. Pan rose from where he had been kneeling and gave Chronos a sort of awkward pat, and moved to Draco's side.

"I need you to do something for me, Pan. Without fighting me on it." Pan's black eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I need you to stay out with our kids, and fight a bit, get the attention of the death eaters, and then I need you to run. Take all the kids with you. Keep them together and fighting."

"Where will you be?"

"Pan. Will you do it?"

"Where will you fucking be?"

"Blaise. Please."

Pan's lips pursed at the use of his given name. "I won't leave you."

"Yes you will."

"The fuck I will."

"You will, because they need you."

"No, no one bloody needs me, they need you."

"Please, Pan. I'm asking you to do this for me, as a favor."

"What stupid bloody plan do you have and don't you not respond to me this time."

"I'm going to stay, with the wolves. If they catch us, they'll turn us over to Greyback, he won't kill us, he wants a big pack. We'll hold them off, keep them off your scent, kill as many as possible, then go in the opposite direction as you, try to lure them off."

"He won't just welcome you into the fold, I'm not stupid."

"No, but he won't kill us either, and we've all been through pack hazing."

Pan didn't respond, he was busy glaring at Draco. They stood in silence for a bit until finally Pan nodded stiffly, clearly unhappy with the plan. Draco closed his eyes in gratitude, leaning his shoulder into Pans, not protesting as the larger boy caught Draco's hand in his own. They gripped fiercly, painfully, angrily almost, until Pan dropped Draco's hand like a hot coal, and moved back towards Chronos and Leto.

Now to find the most obnoxious conversation to have.

* * *

"Oi, Potter, can I have a moment?"

Potter, Granger and Weasley were in the library, and Potter nodded, moving towards Draco easily enough. Granger craned her neck, her interest piqued, but when Weasley elbowed her she turned back to whatever book they were pouring over.

"I need you to not argue with me, and do something."

"Draco, if this is where you ask for a line of slave girls to do your every whim, I've told you time and again, that this whole Boy Who Lived deal doesn't come with those perks." Potters easy smile faltered when Draco didn't smile in return. "What?"

"Look, I need you to take whoever you need to do whatever Voldemort annihilating mission you're on, and I need you to leave. Now."

"W-what?" Harry's brows furrowed, and his chin set stubbornly.

"I need you to take whoever you need, and leave. And preferably soon."

"Why?" The tinge of hurt in the other boys tone was odd and made Draco feel even odder.

"If I tell you, you won't leave."

"Draco."

"Potter."

"Tell me."

"I'm madly in love with you, and its getting distracting having you strutting about the place."

"What? Really?"

"Oh get a grip. No. Not really."

"Draco, tell me. Right now." The other boys tone was stern, and he took a step towards Draco, his bright green eyes narrowing stubbornly.

Draco took a step back, licking his lips nervously. "Fine, I will, but first you have to promise you'll do it."

"Err, ok. I guess."

"They found us. They killed Oberon and Minos. Almost killed Chronos. And they're coming. And Granger tells me you're going to save the world, which can't happen if you're dead. So I'm going to need you to leave, and get your boy hero on elsewhere. Preferably soon."

"Get my boy hero on?" Harry snorted, rolling his eyes. "Wait. Where will you be?"

"I will be here, making sure none of the refugees die. But don't worry, I'm far too pretty to die, I would make a devastating corpse."

Harry frowned, mulishly, clearly thinking it over.

"Potter, don't make me go to Granger. You know she'll agree."

"Harry," Harry corrected sullenly, casting a dark look at Granger, clearly aware she would agree.

"So you'll go then?"

"I guess."

"There's a good lad."

"It's an awfully elaborate ruse just to get me out of your head though," Harry said lightly, turning, his jaw set tensely as he moved back to his friends, where he really belonged. Draco laughed weakly, and waited for a moment, almost wishing he could just stay with the stupid world saving Gryffindors. But he didn't belong with them and their stupid golden intentions.


	51. Nothing But Shadows

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.

Warning: Violence.

Authors note: I know, I know, get to the slash already, but I'm having buckets of fun with this whole war thing, and also I like torturing you guys, and also maybe I should take suggestions on how this shindig goes down. I'm leaning towards it all starting as a not relationship style friend with benefit thing because they are AT WAR, WHO HAS TIME TO LIKE, DATE? But at the same time, I feel like Harry is one of those all or none style guys.

ANYYYHOOOWW, this is a transition chapter, and someone dies, but no one we actually care about, so whatever!

Enjoy, keep reading, and thanks for sticking with me, if you've hung on this far :).

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

* * *

When Draco told them what he wanted of them, the uproar of complains and pledges of unwavering loyalty, and the urge to stay and fight and hold everyone off flooded over the room. He wanted to stay together, fight together, and die together, but he had to be realistic. And the wards would hold them off, but only so long. If they'd managed to take Hogwarts, taking a smaller structure, protected by much less sophisticated magic would hardly hold them up for long. And if they played this right, then the one that really needed to hide, or escape, could.

Eventually the arguments wore thin. The war hadn't seemed that real up until now. It was a dangerous, complicated game, but one that wasn't here, one that could be forgotten during mealtimes.

And now, as basically a maniacal overlord prepared to do his best to kill them all, there was an odd tension. Draco didn't feel the same hesitance he saw in some faces, only felt a sort of grim, all consuming terror.

What the hell had he gotten them into. If they have just stayed at Hogwarts, and shut up, then maybe they would all be alive. Maybe not alive and happy, but their chances of not dying would probably be better.

He split them up into their assigned groups. The wolves were to stay with him. Leto, Cerberus, Eos, Lamia and Selene were staying behind, hidden in the crypts with the refugees, vampires and children, and the centaurs. The truce between the vampires and the centaurs had weirdly come almost the easiest. Though they were both weird, night obsessed ominous groups, Draco supposed. Chronos was also staying, but mostly because he was in no shape to go anywhere.

Chiron, Tartarus, Prometheus and Hyperion were going with Potter and his lot, though that selection did not surprise Draco.

The rest were off with Pan and Phobos, split into two groups, to go in opposite directions, and meet up in a location they would agree on without telling anyone that was staying, in case of anyone's capture.

Phobos was charged to take to the turrets and pick off as many death eaters as he and his could from that high vantage point. Pan and his lot were to be on the ground, behind the wolves, to leave the moment that the breach was getting at all overwhelming.

Draco tried to kick Potter out, but the boy insisted he would stubbornly remain until they at least knew the death eaters were really coming.

They moved everyone down into the very depth of the dungeons, and began activating the traps, and spells, and goblin magic they'd been setting. Draco drew his wand, opening a small gash across his finger, and drawing it across the stones, muttering the ancient incantation Granger had dug up, a form of blood magic. If a property had been in one families possession for a certain number of years, it could have a certain subtle loyalty, and could do things like form unyielding stone walls unless a Malfoy's blood was presented.

After all that, all the moving the food and the beds and the blankets, and everything they could down, and trying to make the mansion except their lair look unlived in, there was still no sign of any kind of impending doom.

Draco and Cole sat side by side, quietly contemplating the skyline, on the front steps of the mansion. Draco was running through things that had been done, making sure they had been, in his head, to soothe himself, when he had a dark realization.

"Cole? Go get all the wolves you can find."

When Cole returned with the rest of them, Draco rose, and moved towards the back garden gate. He felt removed from this thought, as though it was stone-walled off by its own taboo blood magic.

"They'll only be safe if I'm the only Malfoy left. And my dad is half mad somewhere in these woods. We need to kill him, and destroy the body, to get rid of the blood they could use."

His quiet statement was met with silence, but it was the comforting silence of a group of people with the same pack mentality, same heart, same wilderness. They moved through the gate, and effortlessly shifted from a rag tag group of adolescents to a pack of lean wolves.

Draco barked the sound for hunt, and they split off into pairs or trios, to spread out and find their prey. As he moved through the crisp leaves, easing his weight back on his haunches to quiet the sounds his paws made on the forest floor, he marveled at the exhilaration that came from his awareness as a wolf.

Scents were clear, could be felt, followed, nothing the dull twinges he could sense as a human. He could hear and feel the heart beats of his pack mates, of the forest creatures, and thrum of the wards from the manor. Sounds were not only much clearer, but easy to pinpoint with his ears that could twitch to move and pick out exact locations of sounds.

Cole and Fiver followed Draco quietly, padding along at a swift trot, their soft paws making only the quietest of sounds.

Draco paused, dropping his head to the floor, sniffing, tasting. He could smell man, the smell of sweat and urine, the stench of a man who had been in the woods for weeks alone with his madness. The scent wasn't that fresh though, and crisscrossed all over this game track. He picked the freshest trail, and followed it south.

Before long, their scent trail grew cold, and they stopped, trying to pick it up again, the stale scent hard to pick out. But before they had a chance to go back and try to find it again, they heard a bark, and a howl. The baritone, low howl had to be Thom, whose wolf form was a huge, jet black monstrous beast with a low voice. Draco picked up a lope, speeding up as the growls, and adrenaline became clearer, the feeling of prey cornered coming from his pack mates washing over him in a way unexplainable to humans. It was like another sense, awareness of ones pack, and while it was not that strong in his human form, when he shifted, it was as acute as his sight, smell, or hearing.

Lucius Malfoy, or what once was Lucius Malfoy stood in the center of a clearing. He was dirty, his robes torn, his grey eyes confused and scared. He was surrounded, the whole pack was here by now, and he was being stalked, like a sickly deer, by 9 snarling wolves.

His pale eyes darted around slightly wildly, and he made a sound, moving his lips, but not saying any understandable words. And in that moment, looking at this terrified shell of a man, Draco paused. Could he really do this? Kill his father? This scared, trembling man, who had no one left in the world, presumed dead already, this wasn't his father though. This was a shell, a fragmented portion of a once terrifying, powerful man.

But in the wrong hands, he would cause the kids that Draco had saved their lives, cost the nonhumans their freedom, and probably get everyone killed. Lucius turned, to look for an out, and in that moment, Draco leaped. He knew it was an odd form of cowardice, leaping only when his father had turned his back on him, but he couldn't see that odd, helpless look on his fathers face. It was foreign and terrifying, to see his fathers aristocratic face in the childlike state of fear and confusion.

As soon as Draco leaped, the rest followed, snapping jaws descending on the frail man. Tearing, ripping, and the taste of blood, and he was gone. There were a few gurgling breaths, and then Draco closed his strong jaws around his fathers neck, and felt the hot, coppery blood wash over his tongue. He tore and then barked, snarling, the other wolves dropped back at his order.

He made eye contact with Oliver and then Cole, refusing to look at the body as he stepped back, and the three fire-Recombined wolves closed their eyes, and the corpse burst into a violent blue and white blossom of fire.


	52. Painted Red

Authors note: I know. I've been the absolute worst, disappearing, then reappearing for a moment, then gone again. I am sorry! I am much less stressed now that my life had evened out a bit, so I can hopefully write much more often.

Warnings: Cursing.

Disclaimer: Nothing in the world, nor the characters are mine!

* * *

Magic had seemed like a thing to be taken for granted before all this, like air. There was more than enough of it, and it was everywhere. Now, it was more like blood. He could feel it pulsing, could feel it keeping him alive, and just like blood there was only so much of it. But instead of running out, he sometimes would get to the point, though not in a while, not since Voldemort, where he felt like the magic was building up under his skin, reaching a boiling point that felt dangerous.

Now, on the steps of the manor, waiting for Voldemort to attack, to try and kill all his friends, his magic felt thick, rushing, and uncontrollable. Draco stared blankly at the stars, the tiny dots of light seemed endless.

He hadn't said good by to Potter, or any of them, they had gone while Draco and his wolves were hunting, but Draco didn't care. He felt numb, and blank, and removed as if he was viewing something from one room over, casually.

He suspected that he should feel guilty, for what had just happened, back there, in the woods, but his distant, scattered thoughts were mainly a bit melancholy. His father was gone, his childhood home destroyed, his mother dead. His school was taken over by a crazy person, and he had just sent all his friends to scatter across the countryside.

All vestiges of his old life were gone, and now, he found he missed it. He missed being mostly preoccupied with potions essays, and with his mothers Christmas parties, and with the dramatics and tiffs of his house, and quidditch, and everything that was normal. Not knowing terrible things, not having done terrible things.

He missed life before the wolf, which no matter how hard he tried, seemed like a completely different entity, in his body with him, vying for dominance. Sometimes, what the wolf wanted, blood, and the hunt, was more than what Draco wanted. And though he wasn't an old world werewolf, seperatists who would rather sever themselves for the wolf at the price of being unaware of what the wolf did to them, he didn't always feel like the picture of harmony between the wolf and himself. He wasn't at war with himself like they were, but he wasn't in cohesion, he didn't always like the vicious joy of the hunt, the love of adrenaline that drove him to some of his more erratic actions lately.

Draco sat, with his wolves, morosely philosophizing and moping about the past, and that was where they were when the attack finally came.

It came suddenly, as a loud thunder like smashing sound. The air rippled with magic, as the wards were assaulted, and Draco could practically feel the magic buckling under the power of whatever was out there. The wards were pretty strong, but nothing like Hogwarts, not around the whole castle, they weren't strong enough for that, and Draco calmly rose, presuming that soon, they would be broken through.

Suddenly all sound ceased, and like a vaccum, sucking not only the air, but the magic, and the life force from the air around them, for a moment, the world was devastatingly still. And then there were the loud snaps of apparition, and death eaters were everywhere. Draco stood, and shifted easily, his pack following his lead easily. Magic was bright, and easy to dodge for the most part in this form, and so Draco sprang forwards, sharp eyes assessing the situation before him.

Maybe 20 wizards, no wolves. This was a bit unexpected, he had expected more wolves and less wizards, assuming that children, who may have been a thorn in the dark lords side, weren't exactly a huge obstacle in most of his dastardly plans, that they wouldn't warrant fully trained wizards.

Then it struck him. He cursed mentally, coming to a sliding stop, and shifting from one canine form to his other, and threw back his big, square hyenas head, and let out his highest pitched cackle, narrow amber eyes trained on the turrets. The few spells that were firing from the heights of the castle stopped, and though Draco couldn't tell, he hoped Pan had the sense to use the portkey and get the hell out.

He'd hardly shifted back into a wolf when ropes shot out of the wizards wands, binding his legs, throwing him down gripping and pulling too tightly.

Fuck. A trap. Fuck. What did they want him for? He hoped that Potter and his lot were long gone, with Pan and them equally as far away from this trap.

His mind moved at a million miles an hour as he was levitated, trying to convey a sense of calm, for the sake of the pack. Did they want them to torture them? Did they want to kill them publically, as an example, like the muggle borns in the paper had been? Or did Voldemort just need some new fur coats?

Whatever this was, it wasn't the fight he'd bargained for, and he was pretty sure they were fucked.

* * *

The dark lords camp, where they were was a miserable place. They were in cages, like common animals, shackled with thick, dark red chains that prevented them from changing forms. Whatever this magic was, it felt oily and disgusting, coating everything.

They had no shelter, and there were no walls to muffle the sounds of the terrible place. Cole was on one side of him, in a separate cage, Oliver on the other side, also in his own cage. The rest of the pack was a little ways down, in a different row of cages, bigger ones, where they were all together. The row where Draco, Cole, and Oliver were was where the Recombinants were kept. There were four strange wolves, cowed, with hollow eyes that were listless. There was also two vampires, whose cages were at least covered, though barely, and they were more manacled than any of the wolves, and Draco ahd yet to see either of them open their eyes. There was a young banshee, a gag made of dirty rags in her mouth, in a cage that she could hardly sit up in, and last there was a small goblin child, curled up, eyes scrwed up, shut firmly to block out the world.

The others were all branded in the subsequent day and a half, and every time a searing wand tip was pressed to someone's skin, Draco could smell the thick, awful smell of fear, and of burning fur and flesh.

They were in the shadow of an old house, but the magic here was more than palpable, it was like the most humid day of the summer, the air thick with evil, a smell that made Draco's stomach turn.

For two days they were mostly ignored, to pace in their cages, and in Draco's case to wallow in guilt for getting them caught in the trap.

But then, it got worse. There was training, but more forceful than the sessions back, last summer, where people would threaten his parents, then make him perform, then allow his family to live. Now, the punishment for resisting was the crutiatus curse, and the heavy handed death eaters who barked the orders had nasty little, thin fibered whips that dug into your skin, and then ripped themselves out again when used.

This was better than having the actual Voldemort himself judge and rage at them, but being locked in a kennel with magic constraining every move was maddening.


	53. Carry On

Authors note: Time leap. I know. But if I keep letting myself write every scene of this freaking rebellion we will never get to the good stuff! So I'm kickin' it into a higher gear. Let's get serious here, Never, and get to writing. I don't always like time leaps in stories, but I want the story to accelerate, and I just can't see big evil masterminds coup detat's happening in like one minute, this stuff takes time, right? So, since my main characters are all split up, we'll probably switch POV's and start moving along at a faster pace.

Warnings: Uh none this is a catch up, getting back into my writing groove chapter.

Disclaimer: Nothing, absolutely nothing, is mine.

* * *

In the months that followed the abandonment of the castle, Harry made less progress than he would have liked. They had to move around, there were groups of wizards looking for him, and they kept things interesting. On full moons, the wolves hunted them, baying for blood.

Draco had made it very clear to all of them that looking back, returning, or even speaking of the refugees hidden in the depths of the wrecked Malfoy Manor was something that could not be allowed. It had to appear for all intents and purposes abandoned, and having people skulk around in the area wouldn't help anything.

They were all tired, and Hermione was in an unspoken fight with Ginny, Dean, and Seamus over the whole animagus debacle. Ron was strained by the fighting, and had grown short tempered, and Harry himself was hardly a ton of fun to be around, feeling like the whole world was counting on him, and simultaneously feeling like if he could just ask someone for help maybe this wouldn't be a disaster.

And of course, poor Neville was doing his best as peacekeeper, but even he was growing tired of never sleeping easy, and always being on edge, hunted.

It was hard to admit, but he missed them all, even the Slytherins, and their ability to joke and jibe, and keep things bearable, where as now, without them, they all felt strained. The other four had a quiet, strong bond that left Harry puzzled. Ginny seemed to find more comfort in the other three boys, than in him or Ron, which was odd, since she used to adore Harry, and Ron was her brother.

When they spoke amongst themselves, they still called each other the weird names Malfoy had called them by, and some of the cryptic, quiet things they said were obviously Zabini, Malfoy or Parkinson's thoughts. It was almost like they were homesick, which was ridiculous. They had only been at Malfoy Manor a few months, and Malfoy and his lot were hardly an overwhelmingly happy family.

Harry sighed, shifting closer to the fire, watching Neville's face flicker in the firelight. They were up, keeping an eye on their surroundings, watching for any headhunters.

"Neville?"

Neville raised his eyes to meet Harry's and gave him a worn, but friendly smile in acknowledgement.

"Do you miss Malfoy and all them?"

The silence that followed was thoughtful, and Harry felt almost uncomfortable as Neville scrutinized him.

"Yeah," the other boy said eventually, his tone slightly guarded. "I know it's weird for you guys, but them, back at the manor, that was our family. It's not like my gran or anything, but it's sort of like we all wanted the same things, and all listened to each other it was like having a lot of brothers and sisters to help keep you safe. And they helped us get out of Hogwarts. After you lot left, it got bad there. Dumbledore was gone, all the teachers that counted were sacked, and the classes were weird, and sometimes we were just locked in the great hall for ages, and they got us out of there, and then didn't make us stay."

"I know Hermione hates it, but it was exciting getting to try all the spells, all the magic. I wish I could be an animagus, but I just can't get it, and without Pan, well, I don't want anything to go wrong, and Hermione to tell me I told you so," he said in a light tone, a small smile on his lips.

After that, Neville fell quiet, but Harry felt like he hadn't gotten the answer that he wanted. But he kept his mouth shut, trying not to let his hair stand on end as a long, angry wolf call sounded in the distance.

* * *

Authors note, the second: But why is Hermione pissed about the animagus thing? Ok, well supposedly the reason there aren't more animagus is because well yeah it's hard (but if Peter Pettigrew worked it out, it obviously isn't exactly rocket science) but also some sources cite the fact, that if you mess up you can be stuck as an animal forever. I imagine that this is one of those things like how not many children juggle fire, not that there have been many recent fire juggling tragedies, but that parents teachers and guardians don't think its safe or worth it, and don't let the kids have access to the ability to learn these skills. Also it's awesome and if I could be an animagus I would be (also I would like to win the lottery in this dream world, while we're at it). But since it's illegal, and you could get stuck as an animal forever, Hermione is against it, because yeah, it is dangerous, but the rest are young reckless, and feelin' good.


	54. Wherever We Belong

Authors Note: This is a short little catch up, nothing extensive.

Warnings: None.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

* * *

Blaise hated the weeks that followed them leaving. He had barely been able to get Potter to leave, and not bone headedly fight and ruin everything, but the guilt on Potters face when he finally left, was what hung in Blaise's own chest. It was a deep, heavy guilt, he shouldn't have left, he should have stayed, now, though they'd met up with Phobos and the rest of the family, Chaos, his best friend, was gone. He hadn't met them, hadn't communicated at all, and every day that went by that they heard nothing, Blaise hated himself a little more for leaving them.

He couldn't dwell on it though, not if he wanted to actually help the situation. They were doing the best that they could to just be a nuisance to everything the death eaters did. They also tried to help when they could, muggles and under ground wizards, but they were just a group of kids in masks, and not many people listened to them and their warnings.

They were living in a tent, stolen from the wizarding quarter of Edinburgh. It was nice; well, nicer than sleeping in the outdoors. Once in a while the little gold bird Chaos had left with them brought chicken scrawl notes from Potter and his lot, usually sent by Tartarus, who the bird liked best about vaguely what they were doing.

Blaise sighed, stretched, and shifted, prodding Nike off of his leg. The quarters were tight, but sleeping in pretty much a dog pile was oddly comforting, when there weren't people cutting off the circulation to your limbs, anyways. She mumbled something and curled up, swatting irately in her sleep.

When he looked up, over to where the small fire burned in its heater, he could see Nyx, still up. He padded over to her and sat down, his body protesting at the hard wooden bench she was sitting on.

"Hey," he said, eyeing her out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge her mood. She looked up at him, and gave him a tired smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and didn't respond.

They sat in silence for a long moment before she finally spoke.

"Do you think he's alive?"

"Yeah, I do. They're smart, stronger than us, and you know him. He's not one to let a little death eater attack get to him," Blaise responded lightly, though his heart felt heavy, thinking about them.

Pansy nodded, and together they sat in the dark, wishing they believed it a little more. Tomorrow they would go raid another death eater camp, and would pretend they were just rebelling, fighting tooth and nail against the oppressive bigots, but really, they would be looking for prisoners from their family, to get back, or any of Chaos' wolves.


	55. Dark Ray Of Life

Warning: Cursing probably.

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

* * *

Adrian Pucey - Phobos

Liam Baddock - Deimos

Theodor Nott – Oberon

Draco Malfoy – Chaos

Vincent Crabbe - Moros

Gregory Goyle - Pallas

Blaise Zabini – Pan

Pansy Parkinson - Nyx

Daphne Greengrass - Hebe

Morag Macdougal – Nike

Millicent Bulstrode - Cerberus

Elijah Harper - Cratos

Anthony Vaisey - Tyche

Malcolm Baddock – Hecate

Astoria Greengrass - Eris

Flora Carrow - Nemisis

Hestia Carrow – Hypnos

Ginny Weasley – Tartarus

Seamus Finnegan – Hyperion

Neville Longbottom - Chiron

Dean Thomas – Prometheus

Demelza something or other - Selene

Anthony Goldstien - Styx

Terry Boot - Perses

Zacharias Smith - Chronos

Kevin Entwhistle - Pontus

Jack Sloper – Morpheus

Ritchie Coote - Erebos

Colin Creevey - Metis

Dennis Creevey - Eos

Mandy Brocklehurst – Leto

Michael Corner – Charon

Stephen Cornfoot - Atlas

Orla Quirke - Lamia

Ernie Macmillan –Minos

Sally-Anne Perks – Aether

* * *

The leather strap, tight around his neck, with its metalwork intertwined, pinched whenever Draco looked too far in any direction. The spikes on the inside that got hot, and dug in when the collars magic tightened it pinched him whenever he lay to sleep. The damn thing was spelled to shift sizes, and never come off him, no matter what cut at it.

He glared darkly at the wizard, walking through the pens, tossing meat in, too some of the other wolves. Not that his pen would get it. They were rebels and weapons, treated poorly, kept hungry, so that when the dark lord threw them someone, they would be overcome with the hunger and eat the poor bastard.

He could feel the satisfaction as the pack members in the pen next door, just normal wolves got their meat, the hind end of a deer, with all the good meat pulled off it for the humans.

Draco snapped his jaws, growling as the death eater passed their cage, but the man was hardly impressed. His stomach was beyond empty, and felt like it was dissolving itself in hunger, twisting, and empty like a deflated balloon.

It was easier to stay a wolf, there was more room, and he had an excuse not to scream curse words and get himself whipped when the sniveling, cowardly men passed his pen.

There were a total of about 50 wolves, some not trusted to be out unless they were with a death eater, some kept caged because the death eaters were a little afraid of them, and some were caged as punishment for slights.

At the end of the row, there were some other beings, in pens with solid walls, but Draco could smell them. And in the neighboring room, were the rest of the Recombined, the weapons and lab rats.

When they were allowed out of their cages, it was to eat someone, hunt someone, or do something. And they were never alone, always with a death eater that had the corresponding charms to the collars, to tighten and heat up if they misbehaved or strayed too far.

Draco had only been allowed out a few times in the month and a bit that he had been here. A few times to hunt deserters from the death eaters, and once to scare prisoners, on the end of a thick metal chain, prodded with a hot poker, sleep deprived, and starved, he had done it. Every time it was thought they were sleeping for too long, someone would come in and rattle the cages, and snap curse words at them.

Draco growled again as the man came back from feeding the Recombined in the other room, Thom adding his low snarl to Draco's. The death eater grabbed the cage bars and shook hard, but let go too quickly, obviously knowing what to expect, as all the wolves lunged for his hands the moment they were through the bars.

He laughed, a cold cruel little chuckle, and kicked the cage as he walked past, moving back to the human area beyond the thick wooden doors.

So far, Draco's plan was pretty much going well, in as much as so far they were all still alive. He had guessed right, in assuming that the Dark Lord thought they were just a few rag tag children, nothing to do with Potter, and would rather have them back as powerful creatures, locked up safe, than as corpses, uselessly buried in a mass grave.

Faintly, voices started up on the other side of the door. Draco's ears pricked, and he picked up his head, trying to make out what they were saying. More than one person's voice, so likely coming to get someone, or bringing someone new into this hell. He knew it was sick, wanting to be let out like a pathetic animal at the mercy of its handlers, but being penned up was mentally taxing, and even if it was leaving to do whatever some nose-less maniac wanted, leaving was leaving.

The door slammed open, and three heavyset wizards in wolf handling gloves, with the thick chains and harnesses filed in. They came up to his pen, wands out, and murmured the immobilization spell. The kennel master opened the door, and walked in, fastening the thick leather muzzles over Draco, Cole, and Ollie's faces.

The world spun as Draco felt himself levitated out of the cage, and onto the cold stone floor outside. The thick metal and leather harness was fastened over his chest and shoulders, and when all three were secured, and the pen was closed, the spell was lifted.

Draco didn't pull on the chain, and though he was embarrassingly happy to be out of that confined little space, he wasn't exactly head over heels about the way he was out. The thick chain was magicked so that they couldn't shift, and the magic required to maintain that was thick, and stifling. The muzzles were leather and metal as well, and the smell of rust and leather was overwhelming for the first ten or so minutes they were on.

He allowed himself to be dragged out, along the rows, being as uncooperative as possible, making the death eater lugging him along have to yank every step to get him to move. He was dragged through the sparse room where the kennel masters lounged, and through the sickeningly clean smelling entrance to the laboratory, up the stairs, and finally out into the damp, late spring air. Another handler approached them, attaching a thick, metal and granite charm to each of their harnesses. This was a tracker that the handlers could follow, so that Draco and the other two could hunt at a faster pace. So they were hunting someone today. Each wolf was grabbed, and the portkey caught Draco by surprise, flinging him into the ground when they landed, sliding sideways into Ollie. A small vial was opened in front of his nose, and the scent that filled his nostrils was sickeningly familiar.

He knew that if they returned without the prey, or if they didn't at least try to find their target, the punishment would hurt, and would probably be dealt to the whole pack. Cole and Ollie watched him, obviously waiting to take their cues from him, and when the handlers unclipped the chains, to let them loose, Draco paused, to scent the air. Luckily, the scent they were supposed to be following wasn't present on the air. He turned his head, to look at their surroundings, a moor somewhere cooler than wherever the kennels were. He lowered his head to the ground, taking off at an easy lope towards the trees. He barked, not for any reason other than happiness that came from the endorphins rolling off him as he finally got to stretch his legs.

Cole bayed, long and high, the call of a wolf on a scent, though his head wasn't down, and he obviously wasn't trying to scent anything very hard. Ollie, the quietest just galloped along behind them quietly, but his tongue lolled out of his mouth cheerfully.

It was stupid, to be this happy to move, but after spending six days in a tiny pen with 5 other wolves, running felt better than anything Draco could imagine.

The wind changed, and on the breeze, Draco could smell a fire. He wanted to get close, and try to make his presence know, to scare them off, and also if he could smell a fire, then the humans might be able too, and he didn't need the whole pack to suffer just because of his weird sentiments.

He changed directions, bearing up hill around the trees, to the forests on the other side of the wide moor. When they reached the trees, they paused, and Draco tossed back his head to howl, before taking off in the direction of the smoke, and the faint smell of humans.

Down, through the roots and rocks, along a craggy ravine, down into a gully, sliding along rocks they went, moving as fast as they could. The two techniques they mainly used when they wanted their prey to escape, was to move as fast as possible, across the most treacherous paths so that the humans would have a tough time keeping up, and making noise, to scare off whatever poor bastard had wolves sicked on them.

They moved through the thick underbrush, the scents getting stronger and clearer, as well as the magic. They could taste the wards, and as they got closer, could sense the five or six people that were hiding among the rocks and trees. Draco howled, a long, clear, loud howl, and the other two joined in, baying for blood.

Now they were close enough to sense heartbeats, and hear rummaging as the people prepared to either run or fight. The wards were collapsed, the sudden drain in magic pinpointing the location of their prey. Draco stopped dead, the other two skidding to stop behind him. The handlers were back, still deciding whether or not to navigate the ravine. Draco trotted forwards, at a more cautious pace and a small red fox leaped out of the underbrush.

Draco lay low, sniffing noses happily with the small animal, and with the big hound dog that followed him. He barked a warning, after a moments greeting, and when a human stepped out from behind the trees, he growled a warning.

_Run. Run. Now._

The hound flattened his ears, whining in acknowledgement, while the fox just shifted anxiously, looking at the direction the wolves had come from.

"Draco? Is that you? Draco. I need you to do something," said Potter, dropping to one knee.

_Get out of here. Now, Hyperion. Right fucking now, _growled Draco, and the fox flinched at his sharp tone, wolves sounded the harshest of all the canines, and his desperation must have been clear from his tone, because Hyperion shifted, and muttered, "Come on Harry, there are deatheaters coming after them."

"Kill the snake, ok Draco? I need you to kill it."

Draco gave a decisive wuff of air, and touched his nose to Prometheus's nose after giving one more snarl of, _GO_, he turned and took off after a deer scent. He hoped Granger was with them and smart enough to cast a spell to erase all traces and scent of them.

The wolves moved at a flat out sprint, too keep the handlers moving, and the twitches of magic, and a sudden spark told them that Potter and his lot had escaped. They eventually lost the deer's scent, and lay, waiting for their handlers, feeling lighter, even though not catching their prey would probably mean no food for a few more days.

Potter was alive and had a (stupid, courageous, and likely dumb) plan, and now, Draco had something to get done. And with a plan, and a task, there was hope.

* * *

Authors note: So basically, the reason they're alive, is because Voldemort thinks he can control them. And it is sort of working, in that they're too tired and starved to do much but follow orders. And while yeah, I don't think that AYearAgo!Draco would do this kind of thing, I think his view of the world right now is aimed at surviving long enough to over throw this, and he is just waiting for a good time to try to break free! Also another reason that Voldemort didn't just chop their heads off, is that he spent some time and evilness making them into these killing machines, and he want's his shiny toys back. And they're no order of the Phoenix they're kids and while yeah they are messing up his diabolical plan, there are probably bigger fishes to fry (or so Voldypants thinks, muahaha).


	56. Fragmenting

Authors note: I tried to fill in some gaps in this one, and have to give thanks to my ever supportive, ever faithful Ruby! Enjoy!

Warnings: Light gore, well people die, but evil people, so the more the merrier, right?

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

* * *

The return trip had not been pleasant, the heavyhanded death eaters were angry, and taking full advantage of the fact that all three wolves had their mouth bound shut by leather. But when they got back to the compound, they were forgotten, as the death eaters exchanged low voiced angry words, and the wolves were shoved back into their pen roughly, and the death eaters hurried off.

All Draco had been able to make out was the words escape, but he could smell the fear, rolling thick off his captors.

They were shoved back in, still muzzled, and so Draco got to work wiggling and dragging the thing off his head. Thom trotted over, and got to work, chewing on the worn leather strap, and eventually the thing finally fell free.

Draco was about to help Ollie get his muzzle off when a flash of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned sharply, all the wolves in the pen stiffening at the sudden movement from their alpha.

A small, limping rodent slithered along pausing at each pen. Draco moved forwards, his heart beating a million miles an hour as he shoved his nose out through a gap in the cage.

The small creature came over, sniffing him carefully, and eventually rubbed its small head against his muzzle. There was a faint door slamming sound, as the door up above was opened forcefully, and the death eaters stomped down the stairs. He could sense Oberon's heartbeat accelerate, the panic rolling off the little creature.

Draco jumped up, and started barking, snapping, and howling. His pen mates joined in, then the wolves next to them, then his pack mates further down. It wasn't that good of a distraction, but humans had dulled senses that were easily overwhelmed by wolves throwing themselves menacingly against their rattling cages and howling, drowning out the sounds of the small marten scurrying up along, out to the world.

A few hours later, there was a dragging in the air, a crackle almost with the power levels in the building shifting. It was the Dark Lord, and his foul tasting magic was toxic to the magic sensitive wolves in his pen. He wasn't there for them, he almost never actually came down into the pits of the compound, though he occasionally called some up to see him. But from the flares, and anger, this wasn't exactly a friendly little visit.

There was some yelling, some silence, some screams, and then the handlers came, dragging out at least half the wolves, unmuzzled, which could only mean one thing. They were loosed into a round room, as big as the slithering common room, with no ceiling. Eventually three screaming men were pushed down into the hole in the ground, as masked faces gathered up at the rim, to watch the jailers get torn to shreds.

Draco had resisted the first few times he had been here, but if he didn't eat now then he would be too weak to do much, and this would be the only live meat he would get. And after he had finally, begrudgingly partaken, the sickening wave of nausea that took him when he thought about the fact that he was eating a human, someone's father, or son, or brother, had faded. And now it had been replaced with a curl of satisfaction, somewhere in the dark depths of his mind, to tear at a jailer, he could almost see the kennel masters face on this poor wretches face. Later, the guilt and self -hatred would flare up, as he remembered the satisfaction he was getting from ripping through muscle and sinew, as hot, coppery blood spilled across his muzzle, but for now, he felt alive.

In the days that followed, the kennel masters seemed less cocky, and more wary. It was natural, Draco supposed, as this was the first time that they had seen their fellow jailers get ripped to shreds by their own charges. The dried blood on all the wolves that had been in the hole probably didn't help shake the image of their comrades final moments.

As the full moon neared, a few more wolves were tossed into some of the cages, and eight juvenile centaurs were brought in, bags over their heads, hands and legs all hobbled. The smell of burning flesh and hair stung their nostrils as they were branded and locked away.

At least they weren't recombined, and then branded. With Draco, and Cole, and some of the others that healed faster, and some of the plain werewolves whose particular type of were allowed them to heal faster, the brand had been deep, and reapplied, every hour until it was a wound too deep for the body to heal without scarring.

In listening to the wizards in the laboratory through the doors, Draco had learned a lot about what the point of all this was.

The dark lord wanted to figure out a formula to make him more powerful, and immortal, without ill-effects. If they tried to recombine the genetics of some magical creatures, or of a plain witch or wizard off the street, it did not always take, and sometimes, led to malformations or death. The best luck had been with werewolves, something about the disease that caused them to be werewolves let their genetics be more susceptible to changing. Unicorn blood usually led to weak, cursed creatures, while phoenix blood did allow for accelerated healing. Some wizards, whose family's had at some point had magical strengths, and some random genetic changes in muggleborns allowed some individuals to take better to these alterations. Dragon's blood increased strength, but didn't help with immortality, though it did help in amplifying magical ability. And then there were the things Draco wished he didn't hear, about how sometimes, too much magical ability drove the test subjects to madness, the centaur they'd added unicorn blood too had started seeing on the dark, worst visions and had killed herself, and one of the muggles they'd added magical blood too, to see what would happen, her body slowly turned on itself, and she withered away to nothing.

Though he could see the pull of immortality and all that, Draco grew to be glad that he wasn't. This would end soon, either he would starve and go mad here, or he would escape, but if the possibility to be locked in this filthy hell forever had been there, he would have probably been driven mad as well. The stench, and whines of the new wolves, nursing their wounds, the soft murmur of the centaurs voices, and the ever present crackle of the wards locking them in, burned through all of his senses, weighing his down. Pacing back and forth, agitated in this tiny cage, he waited, trying not to let the blood splattered across his muzzle corrupt his thoughts with hunger.


End file.
